Heartbreak Warfare
by saradelovely
Summary: The One with the End // Rachel and Puck.
1. Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe

Puck saw the sonogram third, right after the happy couple. He was home alone, nursing a beer, the four day break-up with Berry still sore in his head, her words playing on loop. Berry, despite her vocabulary and her vast knowledge of academics, doesn't know anything. He loves whats inside Quinn, the tiny fetus they created together drunk on wine coolers and mismatched feelings, not Quinn herself. He would make a good father, he would, and he's grown to hate Quinn for taking this opportunity away from him.

Finn comes over that night, interrupting his thoughts, blubbering like a little girl, holding onto the picture for dear life. Puck doesn't understand why he's crying until he sees Finn, and what he has in his hands.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

"She's a _dot_, dude. You can't see anything." Secretly, Puck feels like something constricts in his chest, a snake coiling around his lungs to limit his breathing. His little girl is there, she_exists_.

Finn doesn't acknowledge the remark, still in awe, and both boys sit and stare at the photograph. They don't make any conversation, lost in thought. The air is heavy, and Finn can't understand why.

When Finn leaves in the waning hour of the night, he leaves behind the sonogram. Puck holds it tightly between this hands, his fingertips tracing the black and white image, and tries not to cry.

The next day, Puck lies to his best friend, everything rolling easily off the tip of his tongue, and convinces Finn he must have left it somewhere else. Finn shrugs and believes him, that's the type of guy he is. Saint Finn, he'd never sleep with his best friend's girlfriend. Finn walks away, and Puck slams the locker door, and sees Berry standing behind it.  
He doesn't know how it happened but somehow, Berry is around all the time, like a fungus at the bottom of his shoe. He can't get rid of her, no matter how hard he tries. They're not together again, even if she did come to her senses about what a stud she lost.

"You're like an STD, Berry."

She raises an eyebrow. "Thanks."

"Why are you thanking me? I just compared you to a sexually transmitted disease."

"Yeah, but most of those stick around forever, which means you want me to stick around forever."

He rolls his eyes. Figures Berry would twist his words to fit what she wants to hear.

He lets her stay, when no one is around, in the comfort of their homes. She doesn't press him for anything, and their moments together are usually filled with silence, and books. She insists on him studying, he has to make something of himself, achieve goals and leave Lima. He can't live here forever. He picks up new vocabulary words from her, and uses them in every day conversation, to the surprise of everyone else.

They begin to do things together, which surprises him even more. It's almost as if he's enjoying their time together.

She leans her head against his shoulder when they're watching a movie on her couch, and she fills something inside. He lingers in the smell of her perfume, he even moves a little closer. After, when she realizes, she'll apologize for the invasion of personal space, and he doesn't argue, doesn't tell her it felt nice.

He teaches her to drive, telling her it's for her own good for New York. He figures this is best chance to avoid looking at what she's in, wearing those impossibly short skirts and impossibly high knee socks, and she looks like every man's schoolgirl fantasy. She wears white and gray today, and he's pretty sure he's on the verge of his imminent death if he doesn't touch her.

She taps her foot impatiently. "New York has trains, and cabs. Car service, even. Why would I take a car anywhere?"

"What if we don't move to New York? What if we're out in the middle of nowhere?" The plurals slip out before he has a chance to catch them, and he awaits her reaction, bated breath in hand.

Berry looks perplexed. She didn't think of that. "Why would we move to the middle of nowhere?"

"I don't know. What if I got a job there or something? Wouldn't you follow me so we could be together?"

"I'm not moving to the middle of nowhere. We'll figure something out when the time comes."

"So, you're saying you wouldn't move to be with me? I'd move anywhere to be with you." The words come out with an amused twinge, but he's sure that every part of him means them.

"You would?"

He nods, and before she can stop, she leans in and kisses him, her thumb hooking the thumb of jeans.

"Come on, let's go then."

He starts sleeping over, upstairs in her room, nestled in millions of pillows and blankets, but they don't do anything. Her dads are never home to care, they're always traveling and he knows it gets lonely in her house at night. His mom never says anything, she doesn't pry.

Sometimes, he stays awake at night and watches her sleep, but not in a creepy way, because he's Puck. He watches her sleep, and finds himself smiling when she lets out soft snores. Figures, he thinks. Figures.

He helps her bake for the Halloween. Her fathers are out of town, _again_, and he doesn't have anything else to do, anyway. He throws flour in her hair, and listens to her laugh, and swipes wine from her fathers liquor cabinet. They have so many, he figures they wouldn't mind.

Somewhere between the third and fifth glass of wine, he stops fighting. He kisses her as the moon dips into the midnight sky, the stars in his enough for them both.

In the end, his fingers dance their way down her spine, finally settling down at the base of her neck. She's laying face down on her stomach, a preoccupied expression covering her features. They haven't spoken for the past hour, speech constricted in each throat. Neither is willing to make the first move.

"This won't matter in the morning." Puck is the first to break the silence, unsurprisingly. His words come in whispers, almost as if the softer they're said, the less likely they're to come true. He doesn't know why he picked those words, he meant to tell her something different, something more along the lines of _be mine._He tries to ignore the look on her face, and pretend it doesn't mean anything.

"I know." Rachel's words are just as soft, a quiet resignation in the air. Her breath catches in her throat when she hears those words, she wonders if he noticed. She looks at his face, his breath still hot on her neck and she can't help but believe his words. Eventually, he leaves without a backward glance, feeble attempts in his head, attempts to convince himself this didn't mean anything.

When he leaves, she cries tears she never knew she had.

The next morning, she doesn't acknowledge his presence and a faint sadness tugs inside his body. It's what he wanted from her, he can't be upset she's giving him that. They're not close anymore, she avoids him like the plague. He can see her changing, changes he's no longer allowed to be a part of. She sings less solos, and she becomes a team player, and people are warming up to her abrasive personality. Time passes, and people like her, he doesn't know why he found this so surprising before. He thinks she may even be dating a geek from Vocal Adrenaline. His hands clench at the unverified rumor but he pushes it to the side.

Quinn loses the baby the week of Thanksgiving, and no one is thankful that day, but now no one's ever going to have to know the truth about the paternity. Puck feels a mixture of emotions, relief the strongest one. He won't have to watch Finn raise his daughter, he won't have to fake smiles and happy thoughts. He laughs bitterly, and _almost _hates himself.

Quinn and Finn break up shortly after, and he tries dating Quinn for a little while, with Finn's blessings even. They made a baby together, maybe they should try a relationship together. He didn't love her before but maybe, maybe he could love her now. Finn's too preoccupied with Berry to even care, and if Quinn and Puck are happy, happy together, he's not going to stand in their way.

The sex is good, _great_, but there's still something missing when he looks in her eyes afterwards. He convinces himself that everything is fine, and that things are just warming up. He'll realize later how he was wrong. It's not amazing. This relationship gives him headaches.

When they're not sleeping together, they're arguing vicious fights or engaged in the silent treatment, the hurtful silent treatment.

He remembers it was easier with Berry, and he shakes his head. Relationships aren't supposed to be easy, they're supposed to be hard and require effort to make it worthwhile. Plus, he wasn't even dating Berry so that's a poor reference.

Finn finally gets his act together and dates Berry, to the surprise of no one. Puck doesn't see why he should care but he doesn't join everyone in congratulations. Instead, he feels something like an ache inside him, but he's at a loss where to attribute it to.

They've been together about a month when Finn drags Puck Valentine's Day shopping. Neither of them have gifts picked out for their girlfriends, and they figure they should show a united front against the commercialized holiday. He tries picking out gifts for Quinn, but all he sees are gifts for Berry. They leave the store, there's nothing to be found, anyway.

Later that week, he'll go to Finn's house and trip over the Victoria's Secret bag in his room. He's horrified at the contents that fall out, and stuffs everything in the bag, locking himself in the bathroom, claiming a stomach virus. He vomits until there's nothing but water left, and vows to never eat Chinese food again.

He doesn't remember what he gave Quinn for Valentine's day but he remembers what she gave him, a break-up to be with someone else. It's never going to work, she says. She's found happiness with someone else, he should consider the same. He's too drained from their time together to argue, much less care.

He stomps around the house, his footsteps sinking into the floor. He can't talk to Finn about this newfound development in his life. Not when Finn is _fucking_ dating the girl. He can't talk to Matt and Mike, really, what would he _even_ say? So, he gets into the habit of talking to Cat. He talks to a _Cat_, for fucks sake. That's not even the part that worries him, sometimes. Sometimes, he looks at Cat expectantly, and waits for him to talk _back_.

Glee becomes terrifying to him. It was easier to pretend when he was dating Quinn. His stomach doesn't sit well with Finn's hands in Berry's, or when her head falls on his shoulder. He notices the kisses Finn leaves on the side of her forehead, her eyes closing dreamily. He notices but pretends not to care, and hopes no one sees how he watches his best friend's girlfriend, his second one.

It's not the same, that is. Listening to her sing in Glee, and remembering when she sang when they were all alone. He remembers the echo she'd have in the back of her throat, the hitch when she would sing Wicked. In Glee, her voice is flawless and perfect, hits all the high notes but it's different, it doesn't sound the same.

She's late to Glee one day, wearing one of Finn's shirts to Glee one day, tucked into a pair of jeans, she even wears jeans now, and Puck tries not to punch a wall. He has to be deaf to not hear her racing in, and plant a kiss on Finn's lips, and yell, hey baby. He tries to distract his mind from whether or not she was intimate with his best friend, he knows Finn would tell him the answer but he chooses not to ask, the words dying in the back of his throat. He fails miserably at the current events in his life, and solves the thinking problem with Jack Daniels. He wonders if Berry misses him. His head hurts, thinking while drunk _sucks_.

"You should tell her." Hummel says randomly one day, cornering him in the staircase.

Puck plays stupid. "Tell who what?"

"Rachel. You should tell Rachel how you feel. Everybody notices, even Finn. Only Rachel doesn't, and that's because she's too busy ignoring you."

Puck gives Hummel a light shove. "Mind your own business, Beyonce." He walks away from Hummel, but not away from the truth.

He wants to come up to her and tell her things, he's not sure what exactly, but he knows there are things that need to be said. He wants to apologize for that day, and fix things with her, make them right. He misses her in every way that counts, and every way that doesn't.

One day, he stays a little late for Glee, intent on talking to her. He takes his time packing his guitar, and when she bumps into him trying to get something behind him, he takes his chance.

"Berry."

"Puck."

These are the only two words they've spoken since everything.

By the time he opens his mouth to say something, anything else, she's already walked away, walked back to Finn.


	2. Author's Note

Author's Note: Originally, this was a one shot. I thought the ending was pretty clear -- Rachel left with Finn, and Puck never said what he wanted to say. However, judging by the alerts and comments, some of you want the sequel, or at least a different ending. I'd be more than happy to write one if that's what you guys want :) I'd really like some more reviews and your opinions on it first so I know where to take the story. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews/alerts/favorites! You guys are awesome.


	3. bend until you break

Author's Note: Thanks for all of the positive feedback! I'll probably update this once I get to thirty reviews. Considering the number of alerts/favorites on this story, it shouldn't be hard :) I really want to know what you all think.

Later that afternoon, Rachel came home and turn on the hot water in the bath tub, only the hot water, and perch herself on the bathroom sink, her knees up to her chin, and wait for steam to flood the bathroom. The mirror becomes foggy when she hops off, and turns on enough cold water to let the water turn warm. She'll sit down in the bath tub, fully clothed, and let the water wash over her, and she won't cry until she breaks down in sobs. Her sobs are cold and unbecoming, they leave her with red rimmed eyes and the shakes.

Eventually, the tears subside, and she lays down, her thoughts turning to their time together. They were happy once, even if it was in the secret of her home, or away from prying eyes. They were happy once, and she knows he felt it. She remembers him when they were watching movies, the accidental sparks exploding above. She was happy with Noah, and she was happy and glad and there were so many adjectives that she doesn't know how to use well enough, how to use to explain.

She'll scrub herself clean, her skin turning crimson and her legs speckled with faint tear drops of blood, and she'll wonder if it'll ever be enough to scrub Noah, Puck, back to Puck, off her skin. She feels her stomach twist in foreign, and awful ways, and she wonders what it would take to feel normal again.

When she towels off, she throws on a pair of old sweats, and an old shirt of Finn's, the number five boldly emblazoned, his scent fully entrenched through and through. She may not love Finn, but she knows the comfort he brings her day in and day out, even when he's not around. He'd never leave her, not the way Puck did once before.

"Hi." When Rachel walked out of the bathroom, the last person she expected to see would have been Puck, sitting on her bed, almost as if it were old times. She could almost feel herself being transported back to the first and last day they slept together, his breath hot on her skin, the excitement dancing across her mouth when he kissed her into silence. She wills herself to look away, her eyes becoming guarded as they should be.

She blinks, and she wonders how to properly handle the situation, finally deciding silence is the best route to take. Nothing can go wrong if she doesn't communicate.

"Your dad let me in, he said I could find you upstairs in your room so here I am."

"Okay." She's not sure what else to add, the _okay_ lingers.

"Show some enthusiasm, Berry."

"You have _nerve_, showing up here like this."

He gives his trademark lazy smirk, and Rachel forces herself not to kiss him when he stares at her like that. She forces herself to ignore the old memories coming to mind, the way those lips kissed her neck, and whispered into her collarbone. She remembers the feeling of intimacy they shared, even before they had sex together, how their intimacy was personal and real. She wonders if she'll ever feel that way with someone else again. Even with Finn, even then, there's a part of her guarded and sealed. It was more than the sex that angered her when Noah left. It was when he left and took everything, the rawness and the emotion, the vulnerability she let him possess.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk." There's no words that he could say to replace the dull ache settled inside her bones, the weariness that accompanies every breath.

Rachel shrugs. "It's too late for talking."

"It's never too late to say the things I should have said before."

She shrugs again, every word from his mouth takes root in her heart like an icicle. Her heart can't be a home to any more coldness, and she wishes he would stop speaking.

"I'm sorry for it, for everything. I didn't mean to hurt you, and I shouldn't have, I can be better. You make me want to be better."

"I'm with Finn now. I'm happy with my relationship with Finn. Finn makes me happy." Finn doesn't make me _break_.

"I don't believe you."

"It doesn't matter what you believe. It's the truth, whether you choose to accept it or not." She looks at him blankly, storing all her emotions inside, voiding them out beneath her eyes.

He doesn't know what comes over him but he walks across the room to her, cupping her face in his hands, his lips meeting hers. His thumb rubs the space behind her ear, his thumb grazing the skin as if made of glass. He's the first to pull away, to break the moment but she's the first to speak.

"I'm not Quinn." She remembers when she discovered Puck started dating Quinn, she hid with a gallon of ice cream every day and tried to convince herself it didn't bother her when she saw them in hallways, and staircases, and abandoned rooms together.

The color drains from his face, and she can't help take solace in hurting him, hurting him back like he hurt her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not the girl who cheats on her boyfriend."

"So you know." His voice falls to a tone of quiet resignation.

"Finn may be oblivious to certain things but when he told me the hot tub story, I put details together and came to my own conclusions. He is your best friend, and you cheated on him and she became pregnant, and you may have gotten caught. I don't know how you feel okay with yourself."

He sits with his hands folded in his lap, and Rachel remembers how they felt in hers, how they managed to fit against her tiny palm.

"I think you should leave." He nods, and he doesn't argue, she wishes he would argue, and stands up to go, turning around at the last second.

"For what it's worth, you meant something to me those days, that night. You still do, you always will."

She doesn't bother to acknowledge him, or look at his face when he silently closes the bedroom door. Crawling underneath the covers, she thinks to herself, she's just sixteen, this shouldn't have to be _so_ hard.

The next morning, she doesn't tell Finn what happened the day before. He doesn't ask why she's silent on the drive to school, and she feigns an illness to stay home from Glee. The days turn into weeks, she's started to avoid him from guilt, and she knows Finn can't be her anchor anymore, she has to find her own way to shore.

Nobody is surprised when Rachel breaks up with Finn, not even Finn himself. He flashes her a dopey grin, and pulls her close, she sits on his lap and leans on his chest. They'll sit in silence together, the moonlight sky flooding through his bedroom window, and eventually, when they fall asleep, she'll curl to fit his mold but it won't mean anything in the morning. It never does.

Nobody is surprised when Rachel breaks up with Finn but everybody is surprised when she doesn't go to be with Puck. She still ignores Puck, and his eyes on her. She still can't bring herself to think about forgiveness and redemption, and his hands back with hers.

Everybody is preparing for Sectionals, and Rachel is distracted by thoughts of singing and dancing all the time, even in her dreams. She doesn't think about the looks Puck gives her, and when Finn calls and asks her permission to date Brittany, she squeals a giant yes, letting it go unmentioned that Brittany, while on par with his intelligence level, is a downgrade from her and Quinn.

The morning of Sectionals, things happen and two schools are cheating, and Rachel is called to save the day with her solo. She steals hugs from _almost_ every member, and she lets Finn twirl her around the room in his excitement. She tells herself it doesn't mean anything when he kisses her because he has Brittany and she has _herself_ but she can't help but miss how his lips taste, stable and resolute to her. She shakes her head. She doesn't really miss Finn, she misses the thought of having someone hold her close. Or something like that. She ignores Puck, she's not in the mood to be drawn into a full blown panic attack.

Rachel, independent Rachel, takes a bow on the stage she's learned to call home, and the audience is flooded with applause.


	4. dusk and summer

Now that Finn is with Brittany, Rachel has no protection from the social hierarchy that is her school. Everybody more or less leaves her alone, there's no need to pretend to be her friend without a popular boyfriend. The spring semester passes by in a daze, and before she knows it, summer has arrived.

It is the feeling of being left behind that worms underneath her fingernails. Everybody is changing, and everybody is leaving, and this is not how things were meant to go. Sophomore year is heading to a close, summer freshly upon them. The Glee club is splitting into groups to go away, everyone_ but _Rachel has plans. She was supposed to be different by this point, better somehow, but nothing has changed.

Kurt and Mercedes are leaving to a distant land, far far away, unable to make fun of her for everything, anything. They didn't invite her to their going away party, she doesn't care where they go. Artie and Tina are somewhere, secluded in her parents cabin for the break, with minor parental supervision. Brittany and Santana is going to cheerleading camp, Quinn tagging along, her former figure intact. Mike is going to visit relatives abroad, Matt is disappearing somewhere. Rachel doesn't know where Puck goes, she doesn't bother to inquire. She would rather not think of him at all. Finn is visiting his grandparents, but before he does, he presses pause at things with Brittany, a secret no one will know that summer. Rachel, Rachel stays home. It's just her this summer, her and the unrelenting passage of time.

Finn comes home a week into their summer vacation, showing up at her door with his suitcases still in his hand, and he shrugs. He mutters something about the stuffiness of his grandparents home, his inability to breathe, he may have even developed asthma. She laughs and takes him in, so now, now this summer has Finn. They spend a week together, doing activities that friends do, spending time together, and it feels _wonderful_. They're friends, friends, friends and since Rachel doesn't know Finn pressed pause with Brittany, she continues to cheer his relationship on with the blond cheerleader.

She wanders over to Finn's house one day, the goofy giant thrilled to see her. Grabbing his Xbox controller, she settles into his bean chair, primed for the competition of her life. Finn wins, despite her best_best_best efforts, and he starts to gloat, and she gets frustrated with him for being a poor sport. She throws out a multitude of big words, and he can only grin at her competitive streak. The debate continues until Finn grabs her by the waist, and begins a tickle fight. It's an excuse, really. He's missed her, he's missed her body with his, even when they weren't doing anything.

Bored, Puck walks over to Finn's house the same day. The cougars are busy with their family, Santana is away, and truth be told, Puck's had a lonely summer. He doesn't bother ringing the doorbell, he knows where the spare key is. Puck walks into Finn's room and sees Rachel and Finn, Finn tickling her for being a sore loser, and using too many big words. Puck hears her laugh, a melody floating through the room, down its way past the empty house.

He debates knocking, and interrupting, maybe Finn can help him get Rachel back. But then he sees.

Finn kisses Rachel somewhere in the middle of it all, and there's no protest, she kisses back. She misses him more than she could care to admit, and she doesn't want to spend the summer lonely.

Puck leaves, unnoticed, never getting what he came for. He wonders why his best friend _always_ gets the girl.

From that point on, this becomes the summer of Finn, no strings attached Finn. He doesn't ask her to become a couple again, nor is it something she prefers. She knows he would leave Brittany if she asked (_still _in the dark that Finn pressed pause with Brittany way way _way _back) but she doesn't ask. She prefers the freedom, the lack of entanglements he offers.

With the exception of Finn, she only sees one other boy this summer. A nice boy from some forgettable school, he's nothing special. She barely remembers his name if someone asked. They go on a date. It goes fine. She doesn't want to see him anymore. She can have Finn if she needs male companionship, he's more than happy to oblige.

She doesn't like dating. She doesn't need anybody, she was born to be a _star_. Stars don't need other people to thrive, to keep loneliness at bay.

Finn whispers into the curve of her shoulder blades one night, _he _loves _her. _She hopes he doesn't hear the sharp intake of breath at his words, how cold it feels against her skin. She pretends to be asleep. This is not how things were supposed to go. When she's sure he's fallen asleep, she rotates her body to face him and she wonders if she could feel the way he does, so sure. She traces his bottom lip with her thumb, and she hates herself for wishing Finn was someone else. She wonders if that feeling will ever leave. She can only hide for so long, the truth eventually swims to the surface. She did think of Puck this summer, thought of him _every damn time_. She's in bed with one boy, and all she's ever wanted was the other one.

The summer draws to a close, and everything is still as unresolved as when it began. The day before school, Rachel kisses Finn for the last time, and throws him a wave on her way out the door. Finn shuffles his feet around, watching her leave, and ignoring Brittany's texts. She's back again, the summer has ended, they can resume their relationship.

And on the last day of summer vacation, Puck, Puck does nothing at all. He just waits for the break to end, and fall to bring a fresh start. He's written Rachel a letter every day of their vacation, even though he's bad ass, and he doesn't do letters. He's a stud, he doesn't do feelings either. He leaves two months and two weeks worth of letters on her doorstep the morning they're due back. He wants her to know he spent all summer missing her. Maybe, maybe this will be enough.

That morning at school, Finn runs up to him, a crestfallen look across his puppy dog face.

"Brittany's back."

Puck rolls his eyes, grabbing his books from his locker in case he wants to attend a class or two.

"She's your girlfriend, show some enthusiasm."

"I like Brittany. She's nice. She's sweet. She's warm. She's simple. She hides birds in her locker and she can do this crazy twist with her hair."

Puck nods, not understanding the direction this conversation is heading.

"But I'm in love with Rachel."

_if you liked it, please leave a review. i'm curious to see if the story is progressing to your expectations. do you guys want to read some of the letters or do you prefer if i skip over it? happy holidays, everyone!_


	5. a little time to change it all

On her way out the door, Rachel trips over the box, the letters spilling out onto her front porch. Aggravated at the delay, she throws whatever she can fit back into the box, and throws the box into her car, stuffing the remainder back into her book bag, wondering why she picked the first day of school to oversleep. This doesn't bode well for the upcoming year, and the goals she's clearly outlined for herself (in bullet points, nonetheless) -- _take on extra AP courses, persuade Mr. Schuester for additional solos, avoid Finn, avoid Puck, stop thinking about Puck, find more extracurricular activities_. The list continues in her mind and she wonders which ones she'll keep to.

She races to her locker, past an anxious Finn, who tries unsuccessfully to talk to her.

"Rachel, we need to talk. It's important and I need to tell you something." There's more words in his sentence, words she ignores, it all becomes a blurs of yadayada_yada_, hurrying away from him and everything he's come to represent to her from this past summer.

"I can't talk right now, late for class. You, as well as many others, are familiar with my feelings on lateness. Punctuality is significantly important, and I'm late, and being late is never a good sign of things to come. I'll talk to you later, send me a text message or maybe a facebook comment." She runs past him, past a forlorn Puck at his locker, and she grabs her books and makes it into History class _just_ prior to the first bell. Truth be told, she's grateful she overslept for school this morning. She's not interested in having a discussion with Finn about their summer together, not really interested in having a discussion with him at all.

Last night, she laid in bed and realized what she did with Finn this summer. She told Puck she doesn't cheat on her boyfriend like Quinn did but she did, she _is_ like Quinn, after all. Finn was dating Brittany, even if she was away. She's a hypocrite who couldn't even stick to her own words, and now she's left wondering if what happened between her and Finn was even _worth _it. She _knew_ he was dating Brittany, and she allowed herself to get involved, anyway. In hindsight, that doesn't make things any better. She only hopes Finn doesn't do something stupid, like tell Brittany or proclaim his devotion, something poor like that. She wants to put the past two months with him behind her.

She pulls her notebook from her bag, intent on kicking off junior year to a strong academic start, and out with it comes a white envelope, a familiar scrawl circling the front. She would recognize that handwriting _anywhere_, the swooping _R _taking up gigantic amounts of space, and she feels her insides begin to freeze. There's a feeling of coldness taking root inside her, and she could have _sworn_ she was past this but she's not, she's back to where she started the summer, not even the summer, the _year_, missing him. She gets lost in tracing the writing with her fingertips that she doesn't hear the teacher call her name for attendance, finally focusing back on the class after the teacher snaps her fingers in her face.

"My apologies," she murmurs and shoves the letter back into her bag but not from her thoughts.

Half an hour into class, Rachel's written down two sentences, including her name if that counts as a sentence, and all of her concentration has moved onto the letters, when a mini paper airplane makes its way to her.

_We need to talk_.

Rachel sighs, crumpling the plane. She can't talk to Finn, especially not during class hour. Her academics are extremely important to her, and she can't afford any more distractions. Well, any more distractions than she has at the present moment. Five minutes later, she gets hit with another one. At least he's persistent, she thinks ruefully, as she opens it.

_It's important_.

Rachel crumples the plane again, and slouches. That's what she was afraid of. The bell rings, and she bolts, like she should have bolted the day he kissed her in his room. She has to avoid Finn today, at any and all costs. She eats lunch in the library, knowing he doesn't even know where it can be found in their school, and she sneaks peeks around every corner. Later that afternoon, she races into Glee last and is the first one to leave, and in the middle of it, a confirmed rumor makes its rounds to her, Finn Hudson _broke_ up with Brittany. She gulps, Finn did exactly what she was hoping he wouldn't. She pushes Finn out of her mind, she doesn't want to deal with this at this moment, not when there are more pressing matters that need her concern.

She comes home that afternoon, and turns her phone off, and stares at the box sitting on the chair across from her bed. She stares and stares, and her fingers itch to touch them, but she recoils every time she moves close. Her heart flutters when she thinks about it, little butterflies spiraling inside her stomach, cartwheels and figure eights. _He _wrote _her _letters, no small feat given his inability to want to communicate feelings and emotions, and his concern with his stud reputation. Rachel wonders if he wrote Quinn letters, and then she brightens up when she realizes he didn't have time, they had a very stormy relationship after all. Or at least, that's what she heard.

She's thought about him quite a lot this summer, often more than is necessary for a girl who isn't dating this particular boy. All the moments, with _and_ without Finn, she wondered what it would be like to call Puck again, and hear his voice, feel him underneath her skin, a splinter in her spine, hear his laugh, say _I miss you, it's not the same with Finn. _

She sighs, a weary sigh that spreads across her body, and picks up the box to move it somewhere, anywhere where she doesn't have to look at it. She moves it to the space in her cabinet, and every day, she finishes her homework and she sits and stares, waiting to see if today is the day she'll possess the courage to read his thoughts, and feelings, and everything else associated inside the white envelopes. And every day, every day, she fails and admits her cowardice, and she goes to sleep staring at the ceiling, wondering if she can get it together the next day.

She knew it was too good to be true when Finn corners her on a Thursday afternoon, demanding to know why she's avoiding him when she _knows_ he has something _important_ to tell her. She tries to brush it off, and pretend she hasn't been avoiding him but it's all for naught because he sees through her excuses. (Since when did he become perceptive?) Finally, she caves, mostly because he's still standing in her way and mostly because she wants to get this over with so she takes the cowards way out.

"If what you have to say is important, then think about it, think about it and tell me in a month." She doesn't know where she gets the idea of a month from, but she knows it's enough to buy her some time from _the_ talk he wants to have. She hopes in a month he'll reconicle with Brittany, and he'll forget he ever had to tell her _anything_.

"A month?" Finn looks confused. Here he is, trying to tell her something _important_, and she wants him to wait a month. Sometimes, he doesn't get this girl.

She nods. "A month is sufficient. If it's still important at that point, we'll broach it for discussion." She walks away from him before he has a chance to argue.

Two weeks pass, and she doesn't say anything to Puck. At this point, she hasn't acknowledged him or the letters he left her, and he's resigned himself to the fact that she's probably _never_ even read the letters, most likely threw them in the garbage or put them through her paper shredder. He supposes it's for the best, and he wonders if he can find it in himself to stop wasting his time, to stop trying. She's had to have chosen Finn by this point. Puck knows that Rachel knows it's over with Finn and Brittany, here's her chance again.

One particular day in the third week of school, the days have blended into each other one by one at that point, he stops by his locker after football practice, banging on the door to open it, when a neatly folded note gently falls to the floor.

_P,_

_ Give me time._

_ R._

_It's three weeks into the semester when she finally opens the letters, hence my comment about time. The next chapter will focus on his notes to her, and depending on the feedback to the notes, it may go into two (or three) chapters. _


	6. Just So You Know

_Day _1

I don't know what to say. I hate writing, actually. All that time in English class just wasted, I could be doing other things instead. Like dip or the hot school nurse. She's not even a mom, which is a step up from the cougars I normally hang with. I could start a drinking problem. Then, I'd _really _have an excuse for that wasted potential you keep whining about. But you dragged me, and I went. I went because you wanted me there and now you don't even want me around. Like I said, time wasted.

(Insert heavy exhale here)

It's not the same without you. You're fucking crazy and you were like a tornado spiraling through.

All you did was talk and talk and talk some more. That mouth never closed. Now that's wasted potential, if you ask me. That mouth and you use it for talking. You should work on that.

Now it's just quiet. Dead silence. It's _creepy_.

I saw that stupid Facebook survey going around, the one where you have to fill out songs to match the soundtrack to your life.

I realized _you_ are the soundtrack to my life.

I sound like a girl.

I can't make it out of bed and it's already late afternoon.

I'm going to stop fighting the feeling since I have nowhere to be, anyway.

Here's what I should have said that day. _I miss you, I'm sorry I left, let's start again. Don't date Finn._

Finn and Brittany broke up for the summer. I thought they were a good match, given their limited brain cells (combined _and_ separate) Secretly, I know you would agree.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was permanent, he's still hung up on you. Can't say I blame him, I'm still stuck with those feelings too.

I don't know why I'm still writing. It's not as if you'll ever read this.

Which to bury? Us or the hatchet?

I don't know what I'm going to do this summer.

We talked about summer in November. You wanted to go ice skating in July.

I laughed at you and promised to take you.

I'm debating spending time at the rink to see if you'd ever show.

_Day _2

It's the second day of summer and I'm dying of boredom, and I decided to clean out my notebook. I know you, if you were there, you'd probably laugh at me hysterically, holding your stomach and wheezing from laughter to know I _actually_ clean. I do, you know, just not as frequently as you liked. I found the study sheet you made me for Math class for that test I needed to pass, the one I had to take after winter break. Your handwriting is all over the place, a messy scrawl, but you crammed everything into that one page.

I never told you but I passed.

I think I only passed because I kept staring at that page. It was the only thing I had after everything.

It was the only thing left of you.

_Day _3

I spent an hour trying to find that song you would always hum around your breath when you were doing homework.

I couldn't find it and chalked it up to a wasted hour.

I should have paid more attention to the humming.

_Day_ 4

I have the sudden urge to watch Titanic.

Something about a sinking ship really resonates with me right now.

I remember the first (and last) time I watched it was you.

I let you cry into my shoulder, leaving your teardrops on my favorite shirt.

It was worth it when you said I'm hotter than Leo.

Obviously, babe. _Obviously_.

_Day_ 5

Come to think of it, I didn't tell you a lot of things.

Did you know that in Connecticut, in order for a pickle to be considered a pickle, it must bounce?

I bet you didn't know that.

Did you know that I still have you saved in my phone? Every time it makes _any_ noise, I hope it's you.

I'm always wrong. I _hate _being wrong. It reflects poorly on my ego.

_Day_ 6

I made myself Macaroni and Cheese. Straight from the box.

It reminded me of dinner with you and then I had to throw it in the garbage.

Perfectly good food wasted. I had to starve after I threw it out.

It was the second meal we had together.

The first were the Strawberry Pop Tarts I made you try.

I _still _can't believe you never ate Pop Tarts before.

_Day _7

I didn't do much today. I sat and I sulked.

I heard Finn came back today, you were the first person he saw. He didn't even stop by my place. _Fucker_.

I'm not surprised.

I know I'm supposed to say that if you can't be with me, then Finn is a suitable alternative but seriously, fuck that shit.

I would prefer you dating a nobody than have to imagine you and Finn.

(Which I have)

Actually, I would prefer if you joined a nunnery and became a nun. I know that would require a conversion, seeing as how you're Jewish, but I don't think it's a lot to ask for.

Can you at least think about it? Maybe file it into that suggestion box underneath your desk?

_author's note: i probably won't update with more than two chapters of notes (probably the first two weeks of summer) unless you guys really review & like it. _


	7. Still Got a Heart for Me

_Author's Note: I'm glad you guys like the story so far. I'll probably update at 65 reviews or when I finish the next 14 notes._

Rachel smiles ruefully after reading the first seven notes. He was right, she _would _have clutched her sides in laughter seeing him clean, considering his room is in a natural state of disarray. Her thoughts sober her up, she wishes she was there to see it, she thinks wistfully.

Taking out a piece of paper, and grabbing a pen, she writes the best reply that she knows at the moment. Somehow, for all the words that she knows, there's not enough to convey _everything_ she wants to say so she takes the most trivial thing, and attempts to build a new beginning.

_ Umbrella. The song is called Umbrella._

_ you have my heart, we'll never be worlds apart._

_ when the sun shines, we'll shine together_

_ told you i'd be here forever, took an oath, i'm going to stick it out to the end_

_ now that it's raining more than ever, know that we'll still have each other._

_ when the world deals its cards, if the hand is hard, together we'll mend your heart._

_ you can stand under my umbrella._

The next day, when she's sure no one is looking, she sticks the note in his locker before she has a chance to change her mind, and turns to walk away, ambushed by Finn. She stops herself in time from rolling her eyes, and stands straight, hoping he's forgotten the conversation he wanted to have.

"It has been four, _four_, Thursdays, Rachel. I think it's time to talk."

"How did you count? Did you include the Thursday I told you to count a month from? Or did you count starting the following week? These details are significant in the greater scheme of our discussion. An improper counting method has the ability to destroy a vast multitude of items."

"What do you mean, how did I count? I know how to count, _Rachel_. It's been four Thursdays since you told me to take a month to think about what I wanted to say, and I've thought about it, and I think you're really going to enjoy hearing what I have to say."

Taking a deep breath, Rachel nods. She might as well get this conversation over with, start a clean slate. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, these things had to be said and had to be said quickly.

"I gave our summer together a lot of thought and I realized how happy we were, are, together and it got me to think. I think we should get back together. Isn't it genius?"

Rachel smiles weakly. _Genius_.

He nudges her with his elbow, leaning into her ear. "Truth be told, I think it's the best idea _ever. _Even better than the time I attempted baking."

"I don't think that's the best idea, Finn. Not at this time." _Or in the future, really._

Finn looks puzzled, almost as if she told him the square root of four isn't rainbows.

"I don't understand. Don't you want to be with me, too?"

"I think that we're better as friends, and what happened between us this summer didn't change anything. We were the only two people back in Lima, it was only natural we would fall into old patterns of destructive behavior."

"But didn't this summer mean _anything_ to you?" He ignores the destructive comment, she can't _possibly_ mean it.

"It did, it meant a lot." The words come out in a soft whisper, and the minute they've left the tip of her tongue, she realizes she should have lied. _But it didn't mean enough_.

"Then, if it meant _a lot_ to you, I don't see the problem. Is there someone else?" He throws his hands in the air, obviously not anticipating this setback.

_Yes, yes, your best friend, actually_. _I thought I was over him but I'm not, and he spent a summer writing me letters while I was tangled with you._ She wants to say. Instead, she shakes her head and mutters good-bye. Typically, muttering is not an ideal method of ending a conversation but Rachel fears the conversation wouldn't have ended otherwise. She walks out the doors of the school, and tries to ignore the conversation with Finn that keeps worming its way into her thoughts.

Later, cross legged, she sits on her bedroom floor, and continues opening her past.

_Day_ 8

Did you know that in Georgia, it's illegal to have an ice cream cone in your back pocket on a Sunday?

You know, in case we (me _and_ you) move to the middle of nowhere.

Did you know that in Minnesota, it's illegal to cross state lines with a duck atop of your head?

Did you know that a giraffe's heart weighs twenty five pounds?

I haven't felt mine this heavy since, you know.

_Day_ 9

Do you remember the day I began to give you driving lessons?

When you hooked your thumbs on the belt buckle of my jeans, when you kissed me for the first time.

I felt you steal my breath.

_Day _10

Sitting with Cat, discussing our tribulations.

I've started reading the dictionary.

In case you decide to talk to me again, I need to be prepared for the excessive amount of big words you use.

I hate when Cat tells me he doesn't get fed enough.

Most people in South Africa don't even have food.

I've started talking to the feline. I would be worried if I were you.

_Day _11

There's a Ziploc bag on my desk filled with white powder.

It looks like my new drug habit but it tastes like sugar.

I need a hobby.

_Day _12

_when you're dreaming with a broken heart, waking up is the hardest part._

_Day _13

I didn't think of you today.

Not until I saw a commercial for the Little Mermaid musical on Broadway.

It made me think of the day you forced me to sit on the couch and watch Disney classics with you.

The Little Mermaid is cool and all, but Cinderella is my favorite. (If I had to choose.)

It made me think.

She comes from a different world, the Prince does too, but they still live _happily ever after._

I was wrong that night, wasn't I?

_Day _14

13 year old made me a sandwich today.

Two, if you count the one I sent back because it had mayo.

She is being kind. I like this. I like her, 13.

_Day _15

I went to Finn's house today.

Haven't seen him since he came back.

I didn't ring the doorbell. I walked upstairs to his room.

I saw the two of you together, you looked so _comfortable_, and I walked out.

I told you I wouldn't be surprised if you got back together with him.

Is he better than me? Is that why Quinn got involved with him?

(Is that why you're involved with him?)


	8. Maybe My Memories Were Always of You

_Author's Note: You guys are amazing! Thank you SO so much for all the positive reviews and I hope this chapter met your expectations. I'm so flattered by all the nice things you said. It really means a lot. Maybe I'll shoot for a ninety for the next chapter? (I could dream!) Now, I'm off to flip a coin to determine which other fic to update._

_In the beginning, prior to the note, the italics inside the parentheses are from 'John Mayer – Dreaming with a Broken Heart_

_PS. I'm hopelessly in love with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Hopelessly._

_For Note 21 – the italics are quotes from the movie. _

_Montauk is in Long Island, New York._

Rachel dropped the parchment, the pieces of paper burning through her fingers. The guilt engulfs her lungs, and she wonders why it feels as though she's suffocating. Her lungs tighten, and she gasps for air. She silently packs the letters back into the box, and pushes it to the side, a little out of sight but not far enough from the corner of her eye.

She sits there, immobile and trapped, and thinks of what to say. A chain of excuses flow through her mind, each weaker than the last.

_It just happened. _True.

_I missed him. I still like him. _She laughs bitterly at this. She doesn't like Finn, not even then.

_I don't know why Quinn was involved with him._

_He's not better than you, there are distinguishable differences. It's just different._

_You lost the right to judge me when you left. _

_I didn't want to spend the summer alone, missing your hands with mine, wanting you. I used him to fill the void you left me with._

_I settled. It was a form of catharsis. We both fucked up. I don't know. _

_He was the replacement for the boy I couldn't have. _Affirmative.

_ Do you know what it's like to miss someone that much, and not have that person miss you back?_

_What do you want me to say?_

_ I didn't do anything wrong._ She tries to convince herself of this most of all. False.

She gets out a pen and paper, waiting for the shakes and aches inside her to subside, and she forces herself to write.

_I'm not moving to Georgia. Or Minnesota._

_ You're not moving to Georgia. Or Minnesota._

_ No one is going anywhere except home._

_ I know._

_ I remember that day. I kissed you an imperfect kiss, and our teeth scraped, and our noses bumped but you still smiled at me like I hung the sun. I wish you still looked at me like that. I wish you looked at me at all._

_ You should feed the Cat. Or wait for him to cannibalize himself to save money. _

_ Drugs are expensive, and given the frequently alarming rate you spend your money on trivial items, you'd never be able to begin a drug habit, anyway. Definitely stick to sugar._

_ (You roll out of bed and on your knees, and for a moment you can hardly breathe, wondering if he was really here._

_ Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hands? Would you get them if I did? No, you won't because _

_ you're gone, gone, you're gone)_

_ There were a lot of nights between us. Always the nights and the time between us._

_I hope 13 brought you a sandwich willingly, and that you didn't threaten her with the threat of imminent death._

_Some things are better left unsaid. Please don't think that this was easy._

The next day, she stuffs the note into his locker, and leans her head back, sighing heavily.

Despite the knowledge of the letters between them, Rachel and Puck still do not speak, mastering the art of avoidance.

In the hallways, during classes, during lunch, Glee.

Avoidance. Silence. Distance. Separation.

She begins to walk away, looking up to see Finn walk towards her.

Finn corners her before she can duck into the girls bathroom, a puppy dog face outlining his boyish features.

He looks hopeful, and Rachel takes another deep breath, and extinguishes it.

"No, Finn. No. We were together once but we're not going to be together again. I don't want you carrying around sparks of hope for a revival of our relationship. This summer was _wonderful_, and I wouldn't take back a single second I spent with you, but I can't be with you. Those feelings are gone. It's not fair to you when I don't have any more of myself to give. It's _over_." She compromises, lying through her teeth by telling him _some_ of what he wants to hear. She leaves out the part about the renewal of feelings she's developing for his best friend. Perhaps this isn't the best time to mention those.

He draws her in for one last hug, and she lets it linger seconds too long to lessen his hurt.

Finn accepts but he doesn't understand.

At least he accepts, she thinks. That's better than the alternative of stalking.

He gets back with Brittany.

_Day _16

Finn stopped by today.

He finally remembered I'm alive, and still stuck in Lima for the summer.

Great best friend.

I'm surprised he could bear to tear himself away from you, even for a couple of hours.

We played video games and I let him win. I didn't have the heart to care.

Sadly, he didn't tickle me. Or try to kiss me. I'm a little offended. I don't compare to you, I guess.

He looked happy.

I understand why.

_Day _17

I drove up to see Santana today.

I'm sick of being at home (alone) so I went somewhere I would be wanted.

I had to get out of this town, away from visions and you and Finn.

I wanted to go back to who I used to be, before all this.

We had sex in three different positions and it was amazing.

When I touched her, my eyes saw stars. Bright gold stars. Technicolor stars. You know what those look like, right?

When you look at those stars and see them as a reflection for your goals, I look at them and see Santana.

It was _perfect_.

We were covered in bruises by the end of it and I could barely walk.

Cheer leading camp is doing wonders for her flexibility.

_Day _18

I don't know who I'm kidding.

The sex was amazing but it didn't mean anything.

I couldn't look her in the eye afterward.

Whatever, it's just sex.

Despite your lectures of sex being a sacred act, it's not supposed to mean anything.

Right.

_Day _19

I polished off two boxes of Fruit Gushers in fifteen minutes yesterday.

Then, I woke up today and realized there's no more left.

The rest of the day is a disappointment from that point.

_Day _20

I would take back our time together.

Like the feel of your kiss against my fingertips.

I don't miss you when I write these.

I just need something to do.

I wouldn't miss you if I tried.

Or couldn't.

Whatever.

You're replaceable.

_Day _21

Watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Now you can get off my back for not watching your favorite movie _ever_.

I remember you went into tangents every time I told you that _no, _I haven't watched it yet.

I've finally watched it and you're not here to appreciate my effort. That's just like you.

Joel undergoes a procedure to erase his bad memories of Clementine as revenge.

I would have done that but I can't. I can't find any bad memories with you.

My favorite (if I had to choose) would be the time your head fell onto my shoulder, and you didn't move. I don't even think you breathed.

It felt comfortable, the way we sat in silence and I didn't speak, and you didn't break the silence.

Our silence was worn-in like my pair of old sneakers, the ones I love and the ones you made fun of.

(_I loved you on this day. I love this memory)_

At the end, Clementine tells Joel to come back, to make up for the good-bye they didn't have.

_Meet me in Montauk._

(Can you do that for me? _Come back and make up a good-bye. Let's pretend we had one._)

(_I wish I stayed, I do. I wish I stayed. I wish I stayed. I wish I had done a lot of things.)_

_Day _22

It's been a week since I discovered you and Finn are together again.

I would think that by now the image would have dulled.

But it sharpens like razor blades instead.

Second time is the charm, I suppose. Are you happy?

Do you love him?

Don't answer that.

There's no going back, is there? This is it.


	9. like a splinter through my spine

That afternoon, Rachel spends an hour destroying the stars she's pasted everywhere, tearing them into confetti, and throws the box of unused stickers into the garbage. She wants the sight of them gone, hoping it's enough to erase the idea of Puck sleeping with Santana. Hoping it's enough to erase the sight of anything Puck related, in general. She knows she has no claim over him but it still feels as if parts of her have broken at the seams. She wonders if this is how Puck felt when he saw her with Finn during the year, every time Finn kissed her in the hallways, when he walked in on them together. She can't but wish she was past this point.

She lays in bed and tries to remember the beating of a steady heart.

As dusk descends into Lima that night, Rachel wakes up from her nap to find the stickers back on her desk. She groans, and wonders how the box made it back up the stairs. The Gods must be conspiring against me, she thinks ruefully.

Carrying them back downstairs, she runs into her father.

"I thought that was a mistake, that you discarded them into the garbage so carelessly. I know how important they've come to mean to you so I brought it back up to your room."

"No, no mistake, Dad. I've come to the conclusion I'm past using these as motivation."

"Rachel, honey. There's several hundred dollars worth of stickers in here." Her dad shoots her a worried expression, carefully analyzing her eyes for reasons behind her decision.

"I know, Dad. I know. But I'm over it, I'm over correlating stars with dreams."

Stiffly, she walks past her father and throws the stars away, not bothering to watch some of them float through the late night sky, waving good-night to her dads on the rebound, and goes back to bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep. Curling up into the fetal position, she blinks back tears and waits for sleep to come.

That night, she doesn't get what she wanted, she dreams of Finn, a series of interweaving dreams about their time together.

A little under two weeks after they became together, Rachel wakes up to Finn staring at her intently.

"What's wrong?"

"Who's Noah?"

Truth be told, he's only _ever_ known Puck as Puck, unaware that his best friend possesses an alternate first name. It has simply been that way, ever since they were little and became friends.

"I don't know what you're referring to, especially this early in the morning."

"You were muttering in your sleep about someone named Noah. You've done it a couple of nights now. You're not cheating on me, are you?"

Rachel shakes her head, and places her hands on the side of his face. "Where would I _even _find time? I'm always, always with you." _Still, we're not together for me to cheat_. She bites her tongue instead of inquiring about Brittany. The less she has to hear about his girlfriend, the less she has to feel like Quinn.

Finn shakes his head. "You're right, I don't know why I doubted you."

Rachel nods, and doesn't make a move to get out of bed, Finn still looking at her expectantly.

"Do you want to talk about it? The dream, I mean?"

Rachel shrugs. "I don't remember." _Liar, liar pants on fire, _she thinks. She remembered very well about the dream, _too _well. She remembers every time she dreams of Puck, she wakes up with fire searing underneath her skin, the melted kisses he's left behind, the ones that laid across her skin until their shine turned to splinter.

"You never tell me things, Rach."

Rachel looks at him, and swallows the bile she feels worming its way to the surface.

"You know everything there is to know." _Except this_.

There are a host of multi-colored memories of Finn and her flashing by through her dreams, the last one she remembers is the night he told her he loved her, the night she turned to look at him and wished for him to be someone else.

Bolting awake in the middle of the night, Rachel opens her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She resolves not to look at the contents of the box that week, if _ever_.

The letters stay in the box for a week. She doesn't write to him, she doesn't think of him, she forces thoughts of the previous twenty two letters to the darkest corners of her mind, and ignores the remaining forty or so letters burning a hole through her bedroom cabinet.

During that week, Finn comes by, and it's less awkward than she imagined, practicing with him for Glee. She misses him sometimes, she misses the stability of him there but she doesn't miss him _quite_ the way she should.

He hasn't tried anything, he hasn't given evidence he's still harboring a host of feelings for her.

Friday, after she comes back upstairs, he leaves white as a sheet, and she wonders if his illness is contagious.

That Monday, feeling better than she has since the whole thing has started, she's busy grabbing her books out of her locker when another note falls to the floor.

Her resolve crumbles as she bends down to pick it up.

_I think it's been easy enough for you._

_Do you feel alive without me?_

Holding two notes in the palm of her hand, she wonders why she can't place the handwriting of one.

_Author's Note: Depending on the amount of reviews, I'll probably post an update later tonight/early tomorrow morning. I don't know if I love this chapter as much as I love my other ones. Thank you for all the feedback!_


	10. You're a Fixation Breaking Me Apart

_Author's Note: _

_Puck's summer note continues from Day 23 and for Rachel, Rachel starts with Day 1. Her notes will be a mixture of both a reply to his notes, and in change of pace from previous chapters, how she coped with what happened between them. Do you feel like that's a little too much to do at once?_

_Day 28/Day 6 is lyrics from 'Tiny Vessels' by Death Cab for Cutie._

_The cliffhanger from the previous chapter won't be resolved until the next chapter. I love hearing your feedback :) (And I'm curious to hear your thoughts on Rachel's new way of thinking)_

_Day _23/

Ordered two boxes of Dominos today.

It was just me, the pizza, and Cat for company.

What a wonderful life indeed.

_Day _1

I hope you shared that pizza.

It would have been disgraceful of you if you didn't.

I'm sure you could have used the fat after burning all those calories with Santana.

I'm glad the sex with her was spectacular, by the way.

No, really. I'm thrilled.

It's rare to find chemistry, that undeniable urge to be with someone at every moment.

I feel it with Finn.

Do I love him?

I don't know.

But he doesn't leave me.

_Day _24/

The sky was beautiful tonight.

It reminded me of the time we moved blankets and pillows onto your roof, and counted the stars.

You were in another tangent of yours, whining the roof was going to cave in because of our weight.

I lost track after five and spent the rest of the evening persuading you to make out.

We hit second base that night.

_Day_ 2

I destroyed all the stars I carried around.

I _destroyed_ those stars. Don't you _dare_ talk to me about stars.

It felt like fragments of me died every time I cut the pieces.

Do you know what it's like to feel like you're killing yourself, and still be unable to stop?

I'm trying to hold myself together, these bits and holes.

But I can't keep sewing my stitches to let you tear the sutures apart.

_Day _25/

This pool cleaning business is picking up.

I've met some sexy girls (and moms) with this lucrative investment of mine.

At the rate I'm getting out asked out, I'll be married in a week.

Just kidding. Maybe.

You had your chance.

And you blew it.

_Day_ 3

You can't see me right now but I'm laughing, clutching my sides and it hurts to the bone.

The chlorine has gone and affected the minor brain cells you possessed.

_You_ left _me_.

Don't forget to remember that.

_No one forgets the truth. They just get better at lying_.

Is that what you do?

Lie to cover up your role in this disaster?

_Day _26/

I've never been jealous of Finn.

Not even when he had Quinn.

(Even when I had her later)

It didn't feel like anything was missing.

But now, I feel that ache all the time.

You've become my phantom limb, the missing tooth I roll my tongue over.

(Not that I have missing teeth. You know what I mean)

Sometimes, I forget how you sound.

That voice, that voice that talks relentlessly without a pause.

I miss the awkward way you walk.

Those legs that last for miles.

I miss the way you smile and the whites of your eyes.

I miss _you_ and I _will_ miss you.

_Day_ 4

Thanks for being a jerk today and stepping on my foot in Glee.

I wouldn't have worn my new ballet flats had I known you were going to do that.

_Day _27/

I saw Finn today.

Surprisingly he wasn't with his ball and chain.

(That means you)

Did some weed, played some video games.

He told me your dads are out of town. Again. No surprise there.

We had some good times when they were away frequently.

He left early.

Because he wanted to make the most of his alone time with you.

I don't know.

He already goes to bed with you (most nights)

He already wakes up with you (most mornings)

I could care less.

It's just me and the long night that surrounds me.

_Day _5

My dads were away a lot that summer.

Finn and I had the house to ourselves a lot.

You'd be surprised at what could be done when it's just two.

I could explain but you know what they say, some pictures are worth a thousand words.

Have fun (imagining)

_Day _28/

I had sex with some high school chick from the town over.

We went out a couple of times. She's starry eyed and shit.

She told me that she loves me, I'm the one for her.

Who says that, anyway?

_this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her but you don't._

_ you touch her skin and then you think she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me._

_ so one last touch and then you'll go and we'll pretend that it meant something so much more_

_ but it was vile and it was cheap, she was beautiful but she didn't mean a thing to me._

_Day_ 6

Funny.

Almost sounds like you're talking about me.

And us.

And that night.

a_ll the playful misspellings and every bite i gave you left a mark_

_ tiny vessels oozed into your neck and formed the bruises that you said you didn't want to fade_

_ but they did, and so did i that day._

_Day _29/

It has been two weeks of you and Finn.

Do you count anniversaries?

You mentioned it once.

You count the first, the sixth, the ninth and the year.

Halfway at the first one, I suppose.

Unless you're counting as if you never broke up.

In that case, here's your math.

It's your seven month with Finn (not counting the _barely_ three weeks you were apart)

And it's our sixth. Six months since the day I left.

Happy anniversary, dahling.

And in case you've forgotten, I remember every drop.

_Day _7

Why do I have to feel guilty if you're the one who left first?

I'm not going to apologize for Finn choosing me over you this past summer.

You, you were lonely.

Whatever.

I was _heartbroken._

You left me a wreck.

You _ruined_ parts of me.

Don't be mad because of how I chose to put myself together.

I can be fine without you.

And that scares you.


	11. Sinking Sailboats

She finishes writing them, believing she's left him all the words she could say, in her tiny black and white replies. She didn't how destructive her thoughts were until she put them to paper. They're eating at her insides, and she's left with the bitter taste of an aftermath she didn't want. She feels terribly sad at it all, and she wonders when she stopped faking her smiles, and ignoring the truth. There's a depression seeping through her veins, and she wonders why she isn't fighting for it to stop. She exhales, and crawls back underneath her covers, ignoring her school work again. She lays there, her eyes fixated on the ceiling above, the darkness swirling around, and ponders if she'll receive replies, if she _even _wants replies.

Rachel carries around the letters in her bag for the majority of the day, unsure if she wants to give them away or hold them at bay. She sits through her classes, and she loses her focus, and isn't dismayed to discover a deplorable 68 percent circling her math test. These notes are ruining her grades, her attitude towards her education and the furthering of her potential. These days, she's lucky if she can put one foot in front of the other, lucky enough to stand upright. By the end of the day, she's drained to do anything but sleep. Something has to fall at this point, she can't continue devoting her energy to these notes and Puck at the expense of her future.

_and so i'm bleeding out inside,_

_you turned me out and now i can't turn back._

_i hold my breath because you were perfect_

_but now i'm running out of air and it's not fair._

She wishes she healed this summer, after both break-ups (one real and one hypothetical.) She should have stayed inside her home with ice cream, and chocolate, literature and music to comfort her soul. She _barely_ waited three weeks before getting with Finn after Puck left, and she used Finn in more ways than one, using him for a lone stable force in her life. Staying with Finn only distracted her from her problems, the distractions could only last for so long. She wishes parts of her were stronger, less malleable to emotion. Wondering what happened to the girl who was commonly referred to as an ice princess, she blinks back tears. Skipping Glee that day, she enters the library, her fingers tracing across the books she hasn't opened.

She shuffles her feet through the library, searching for items to interest her back into the real world, when she hears a sniffling coming from the far end of the room. Rounding the corner, she sees Tina on the floor surrounded by a box of tissues.

Trying to not to pry, Rachel does anyway, and sits on the floor next to her, and waits for Tina to speak.

The two girls sit there while time passes them by, Rachel waiting for Tina to breach the silence. She's intent on not being the first to speak, for fear of saying something damaging, or harmful without knowing all the information.

The words, so quiet, sadden Rachel when they're spoken.

"Artie broke up with me. He said he can't see the past the stuttering, the lie I told him. He said I destroyed the foundation of a healthy relationship, and healthy relationships can't breathe without trust, and the truth."

She takes Tina's hand in hers, Tina too shocked to protest. Sitting there, she holds Rachel's hand in one, and continues grasping the tissues in the other.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry it hurts." She doesn't know what else to add.

"I didn't lie to hurt him, it happened and then I tried being honest with him, and it backfired."

Rachel's unsure of what to reply, and takes the thought that silence is the best policy in this scenario, and doesn't say anything, and Tina just leans her head on Rachel's shoulder.

"I'm surprised you're not telling me that break-ups, like relationships, are meaningless at our age."

Thinking back to her two heavy relationships, Rachel shakes her head, and lets out a soft reply.

"I don't think so. I think there are some hurts that never leave."

When Tina stands up, pieces of homework and irrelevant papers claw their way out. Noticing the paper following out of Tina's bag, Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. She pulls out the note she received the previous week, and hands it to Tina.

"That's your handwriting."

Tina nods.

"I mean, yeah. I wrote it but it's not from me. I just scribbled what they wanted, and was responsible for putting it in your locker."

"Who did you write it for?"

"I can't tell you."

Rachel looks perplexed. "I don't understand. I'm almost positive that keeping the identity a secret is a moot point."

"That person made me promise. Sorry, Rachel. Thanks for staying with me, though. It was nice of you."

With that comment, without waiting for a reply, Tina flounces out of their library hideaway spot, leaving a confused Rachel in her wake. She sits there, trapped by the growing secrets in her life, until she can gather enough strength to leave the room.

Quietly, she leaves the letters in his locker.

t_here's nothing like you and i_

_Author's Note:_

_I'm going to respond to all your reviews this evening. Thanks so much for the feedback. PS. is it just me or is no one getting their alerts either?_

_The italics in the first paragraphs are from 'It's all your fault' by Pink. Also, I have some songs picked out for the next few chapters but I'm curious if there's any that you guys can think of that I haven't. And, more or less, I've written everything from Rachel's point of view. Does anyone want to see alternating view points?_

_And the future installments are as follows: Rachel reads notes 30-37, day 8 to 15, responses to previous notes are left, her discovery that some secrets can't be kept shouldn't be a surprise, her 17th Birthday party, the first glimpse of Puckleberry interaction, and two notes sensitive enough to be posted on their own._


	12. Weeks go by Like Days

_Author's Note: In case I don't update before the holidays, happy new year everyone! _

_Day 30-37 is Puck's summer note._

_Day 8 to15 is Rachel._

_and the parentheses is her description of what happens every day._

_I hope it makes sense._

_Thank you all SO SO SO much for the feedback. _

_I'm so glad you enjoy it._

_Day_ 30

Here's what I remember from what I've been trying to forget.

The first day we spent any real time together, you threw four (!!!) diva tantrums, stormed out once, and came back thirty seconds later to yell at me some more.

I don't even remember what the argument was in regards to.

I didn't hear the words you yelled, just watched your pout, and wondered what it would taste like.

Like I said before, you have _that_ mouth and you waste it by talking.

Moving on.

You're beautiful.

That brand of crazy is an acquired taste.

Not many have the stomach for it.

Or the ability to handle it.

When you started dating Finn, I watched you.

You seemed calmer, less volatile.

I hope you seemed less _crazy_ because you felt calmer _inside._

I hope he didn't extinguish your spark.

_Day _8

I received a deplorable 68 percent on my math test, Puck.

Sixty. Eight. Percent.

I think I would have cried, had I not cried myself out with the 75 percent on my Spanish test.

I don't know what's happening with me anymore.

I don't know how I'm going to become a young ingénue with such an abysmal academic record.

I have become a failure.

The lower my grades drop, the likelier I will be singing show tunes at the local drive-in.

I've never done this poorly in school, not even when you left that time.

Though, I had Finn to cushion my fall when you did.

I still pulled acceptable grades.

Do you think it's possible? Do you think it's possible I can only do well with either one of you by my side?

(That day, Rachel's car breaks down in the school parking lot, forcing her to catch a ride with Finn. They don't talk much in the car, if at all, until Finn pulls up to her driveway. Tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, Rachel glances over at him, noticing his chipped nails. She's never paid attention to his nails, she wonders what else she's failed to notice. Finally, he looks at her, wrinkles creasing his forehead, the corners of his eyes.

"Seven thirty tomorrow?"

She nods. "Thanks."

Their arrival at school the next day, together, spreads like wildfire before classes have even begun, and Rachel doesn't bother correcting Susan when she calls Rachel, Finn's girlfriend. _Twice_.)

_Day_ 31

Finn came over today, rubbing his eyes, sneezing a storm.

I was disgusted with him.

He brought dust with him, and various other forms of infectious dirt molecules.

I've kept my room spotless this summer.

(What else was I supposed to do but clean?)

I asked why he couldn't take a shower before coming over.

He said he was home with you, cleaning your room, moving stuff to the basement.

What does he go home to when you're not around?

_Day_ 9

My dad found a collection of your old T-shirts hidden in a box in the basement.

Needless to say, they flipped out, ranting about harems and how I'm covertly hiding a flock of men.

Honestly, they're so over dramatic.

After they threw it into the garbage for collection, I snuck out and brought them back to my room.

You know, in case you ever ask for them back.

(Glee was canceled today, for which Rachel was extremely grateful for. It was one of those days were she wore mismatched socks and forgot to brush her hair, throwing it in a lazy ponytail. Some days, she remember the days she spent hours putting effort into her appearance. It feels gratifying to care less, to dress like a normal teenager, as normal as one could be hurting this much.)

_Day_ 32

Today has proven to be the most mundane of days.

(Told you reading the dictionary would pay off)

I'm caught inside my head today, thoughts I don't want.

I wish I had friends to pull me back to the land of the living.

Also, I want to say this.

I learned to scowl at a very early age and it has continued to serve me well.

_Day_ 10

I had a pregnancy scare after you.

Your sperm are fast swimmers, you should be careful.

Getting two girls pregnant at sixteen is nothing to win a medal over.

I used three pregnancy tests, figuring the third time would be the charm.

I wasn't pregnant and I was relieved.

It would have been nice to have a baby with you, I thought.

Until it dawned on me.

If you wouldn't acknowledge me in all the months we spent together,

why would you lay claim to a child we created together?

That's what hurts you know.

I could understand if you didn't want to see me, I could.

I could even stomach it.

But you were _ashamed_ of me.

That's why you became involved with Quinn, I suppose.

Blond and beautiful, she is every guy's fantasy.

The princess to your fairy tale.

I understand the social hierarchy is there for a reason.

But you're only the _second_ most popular boy in school.

The first, naturally, is Finn.

What still bothers me is this.

If Finn wasn't ashamed of me, why were you?

What was so wrong with me?

(Contrary to popular belief, Rachel and Finn are _not_ together, he is still dating Brittany but no one has to question where his _real_ allegiance lies.)

_Day_ 33

These are a few of my favorite things.

Playing Guitar Hero at random hours of the night.

Going commando.

The nights I spent with Finn drinking wine coolers and doing pot in the garage.

The days we made our survival kit to the zombie apocalypse.

Showers.

The talking Cat.

You.

I fell for you, and now everything hurts more than it should.

_Day_ 11

Stop talking to the Cat.

It's the first sign of trouble.

Also, I don't know know _how_ many times I have told you but there will be no zombies.

No zombies. Maybe mummies.

(Rachel starts running every morning. She's grown tired of the elliptical, and she figured the cool air will be a change of pace. Halfway through her path, she was joined by Brittany. It was an awkward run, but only on Rachel's end. Brittany gave no comment about the rumors circulating about Rachel and Finn. She waved at the end, and Rachel gives a half hearted wave back. She stops running.)

_Day _34

I'm wide awake.

It's morning.

The mornings are fine.

I see the worst in the nightly hour.

_Day_ 12

Finn was the first boy to give me those three words.

Despite all I've done to injure him, he's never taken them back.

Sometimes, I wonder if he'll be the last.

(Rachel stops carrying the trolley case through school. Evidently, being rumored with Finn, has placed her in everyone's good graces. Again. She talks to Finn that day, but she doesn't discuss the rumors. He does it first.

"Why can't you be honest?"

She looks at him quizzacly.

"I am honest."

"If you were honest, you would admit you love me too."

She doesn't say anything when she gets out of the car.

She wonders when it became easy to hurt those that love her.)

Day 35.

School starts in forty days.

I'm not ready to give up the quiet of my home.

I'm not ready to see you and Finn again.

I need to stop being such a pussy and get laid more.

This feelings shit is ruining my testosterone levels.

Any day now, I'm going to start watching _fucking_ show tunes.

_Day_ 13

Tina and I sat together at lunch today.

I'm helping her through the break-up.

It feels nice having a friend.

(Rachel was invited to a weekend party by Mercedes, an olive branch if one ever saw. She throws her a grateful smile, and accepts. Later, she finds that the party wasn't real and Mercedes was cruel. People are cruel.)

_Day _36

All of a sudden, I miss everyone.

_Day_ 14

I knew you had a heart underneath those layers of ice.

Maybe it will thaw one of these decades and you'll stop being scared.

(Mercedes apologizes for making Rachel cry but only after Rachel throws a slushie in Mercedes face for being such a bitch. She smiles when she sees Mercedes covered in cherry.)

_Day_ 37

Three weeks.

_Day_ 15

I received two notes last week, neither of them from you.

Unsurprising. I don't know why I assumed you would write back to the nine notes I left you.

You probably threw them in the garbage, or into the incinerator.

Maybe through the paper shredder.

One note was from Finn. He asked me if I could feel alive without him.

Truth be told, I'm not anxious to discover the answer to that.

Just because someone speaks words doesn't make them true but with him, I know they are.

I know he's true. Even if he emotionally cheating on Brittany.

He's wormed his way into my heart, and I don't know, I can't let go.

The second, the second was from your ex girlfriend. Or the girl you've been sleeping with.

Whatever. Skank.

From what I understand, she thinks it's easy for me to be a homewrecking whore.

("Has it been easy enough for you?"

Rachel looks confused.

"To cheat, to sneak around with Finn, to contribute to the end of his relationship with Brittany."

Rachel inspects her nails, she should get a manicure this weekend. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're referring to, Santana."

Santana pokes a finger at Rachel's chest.

"Don't play games with me, Man Hands. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

"Whatever. If I were you, I'd be more concerned regarding that attitude. Though, given the consistency of the sour look on your face, it _does _suit you."

"Do you want to see Brittany cry?"

Rachel shakes her head.

"Then stay away from her boyfriend."

With those parting words, the angry Latina storms out of the bathroom.

Rachel washes her face, drying her eyes and goes outside to meet Finn, waiting to give her a ride home.

Despite Santana's thinly veiled threats, Rachel isn't giving up Finn, not when he's the singular light keeping her afloat.

The trick she's learned is to keep breathing, to keep breathing, even underwater. Even when one is suffocating deprived by oxygen.)

_And future installments include:_

_Rachel attempts to play matchmaker with other people's relationships._

_Finn begins planning Rachel's surprise birthday party, Rachel doesn't protest, she lets him have what he wants. She wonders if Puck will attend, she doesn't see his name on the guest list. She snuck a peek when he wasn't looking._

_Day 38 to 44 (6 notes because note 45 deserves to stand on its own and is a chapter by itself.)_

_Day 16 to 22 (6 notes because note 23 stands on its own and is a chapter by itself.)_

"_I love you but I've chosen darkness."_

"_What's wrong? This isn't the type of thing to hide away, especially with feelings as strong as yours."_

"_What's a birthday without the sex?"_

_She stands at his doorstep, and fidgets from foot to foot, wondering if this is the right decision._

"_You can believe what you want, I don't love you."_


	13. How Can You be so Sure?

_Author's Note: Happy New Year, everyone! This chapter doesn't have any notes from Puck. Rather, just day 16 to 22 for Rachel._

_Note 17 is 'Stand Still Look Pretty' by the Wreckers. (The lyrics are in italics)_

_Note 21 is 'Sweet Silver Lining' by Kate Voegele. _

_Note 22 is 'Use Somebody' by Kings of Leon. (The lyrics are in italics)_

_The next update is scheduled for January 5__th__ or if I get to 180 reviews. Whatever comes first, really. I want to hold onto the next (three) chapters as tightly as possible, for as long as possible since I want to make sure you love them. I'm so glad you guys like this story, I love love love all your feedback. I mean, if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. _

_Day_ 16

Finn begins to plan a surprise party for my 17th birthday.

Not much of a surprise if I'm aware of the party but it's a _wonderful_ gesture.

(In the back of my mind, I wonder if you would have done the same)

(I think back to last year's birthday)

He thinks I'm oblivious to his planning, the guest list, his order of decorations and cake, and balloons.

He's ordered _dozens_ of balloons, and I'm still curious where he's hiding them all.

I snuck a peek at the guest list when he wasn't looking, but I didn't see your name.

I'm still debating how your absence makes me feel.

Maybe it's best if you don't come. There are enough needles in my stomach as is.

And I'm still debating if I want this party but he does, he does so much.

I'll go to this party, I'll go for him. I'm tired of taking things from him, giving nothing in return.

Brittany ends her relationship with Finn, in case you haven't heard.

She dates Mike, they're wonderfully sickening together.

(It begins with her 17th birthday party. Later, if you ask her, that's where the problems begin.)

_Day_ 17

I had to speak to Miss. Pillsbury this afternoon., my reason behind missing Glee.

I could understand why she wanted to have a conversation with me, why she wanted to understand everything.

My grades are slipping, and I have the saddest eyes. But, there's nothing else going on.

Really.

(I lie)

_i am slowly falling apart, you might think it's easy being me._

She asked me to discuss my problems, and I shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm fine." Fine fine fine.

"I don't think you are, Rachel. The girl who spoke volumes can't speak a page. I'm not the only one to notice."

I stay silent, and direct my gaze to the clock hanging behind her. A neutral zone.

She looks at me quietly, her uncomfortable gaze piercing through.

She hands me packets regarding the topic of depression, and I look at her to laugh.

"Really, Miss. Pillsbury. I think you're taking things out of proportion."

(How does she know? I'm not depressed, I'm not not not. I'm _not_ sad. Not in the public eye. Let's hide.)

"Perhaps these may help since you seem incapable of speech. This isn't the type of thing to hide away."

I'm defensive. "I'm not hiding anything."

"This isn't the type of thing to hide away. Not with feelings as strong as yours."

"You don't know how I feel." She doesn't, _no one_ does.

"If you won't discuss your issues with me, you should discuss them with someone you trust."

I shrug. "There's isn't anyone."

"You have Finn."

"We broke up."

She looks at me. "I don't think that changes how much he loves you. It's clearly written on his face."

"It's just high school, Miss. Pillsbury. There's nothing going on."

_but people have problems worse than mine, i don't want you to think i'm complaining all the time._

"I know high school could be a difficult place, and I know you may not have it easy lately."

Blankly, I stare at her and walk out, I leave the packets on the table.

She doesn't know what she's talking about.

(The first step in admitting a problem is denial)

a_nd i wish everyone would go and just shut their mouths, _

_ i'm not strong enough to deal with it. _

_Day_ 18

I've attempted to orchestrate a reconciliation with Artie and Tina.

Neither of which are aware of, of course.

_Secrets_, Puck. Secrets, not honesty, are the foundation of a relationship.

(Like us in a previous life)

("Mind your own business, Rachel. I don't know if I want you getting involved." Artie rolls away)

_Day_ 19

I accidentally cut myself shaving today.

I stared at the droplets of blood ringing their way around my leg.

Then, I panicked and began searching for a first aid kit.

I would have taken up self-mutilation a time ago.

Had I not been scared of blood. Or inflicting pain purposely.

I'd rather ride out the wave of pain than go to extremes.

Isn't it better to be sad sometimes?

_Day_ 20

I found the drawing you drew of me back during that October night.

I was quite a stick figure.

I wish I was thinner in real life.

And I wish I had a backbone.

I wish I was happier with myself.

_Maybe I should change._

_Day_ 21

_most days i try my best to put on a brave face_

_ but inside my bones are cold, and my heart breaks_

_ but all the while, something's keeping me safe and alive_

_but so many people are looking to me to be strong and to fight_

_ but i'm just surviving, and i may be weak but i'm never defeated_

_ i'll keep believing in clouds with that sweet silver lining._

_Day_ 22

I'm making a choice, a conscious choice to cut the strings you've tied around my wrists.

This is how I see it. I see it as easier for me to be without the weight of your presence.

(I have loved you but I can't be _with _you and I'm tired of being _without_ you.)

You've meant this much to me, these feelings I wouldn't be feeling otherwise.

But I don't know how long I can continue drowning without you to pull me to air.

(Rachel finds Finn sitting on the bleachers, his head tilted back, the wind drifting across his face. She finds him, and sits down, he doesn't move a muscle, he knows who's arrived by the sound of her walk.

"I'm sorry it's over between you and Brittany."

Rachel watches on as Finn's shoulders stiffen, and then slump. He picks up his head, and ignores her eyes.

"Don't be," he says softly, looking out over the football field. "She deserves to be with someone who _wants_ to be with her. She found someone that wants to be with _her_, not someone who wishes she was someone else. Do you know what that's like? To always look past someone for someone else?"

She nods, an ache spreading through her throat, the tears threatening at bay. She knows that life _too _well. She thinks back to Miss. Pillsbury's words, and she swallows the lump in her throat, taking Finn's hand into hers, slanting her head onto his shoulder. She waits for him to let go of her hand, to walk away but he doesn't.

They sit and watch the afternoon sun explode into the sky, and she wonders if rejoining the land of the living wouldn't be a terrible idea, if being Finn would provide her the pillar of strength she needs in life. There are worse things in life than being with Finn, she thinks.)

y_ou know that i could use somebody, somebody like you_

_ someone like you and all you know and how you speak._

_Up next:_

_Notes 38-44 (Puck's summer notes)_

_Note 45_

_Rachel's surprise birthday party_

"_My dad died."_


	14. The Heart That Brings You Back

_And so evidently, I lied. I couldn't hold onto this chapter for my life. There are no replies from Rachel in this chapter (though, she does acknowledge some of the notes in her thoughts) and they don't start again until Chapter 16. For those of you curious about the switch in Rachel's feelings (from darkness to happiness), it's her seventeenth birthday. I wanted to give her a day of happiness. She reads his notes in intervals during the course of the day of her birthday, and I wanted to keep her happy that day for as long as possible. Chapter 15 has note 46 and her reply to that is verbal, not written. _

_And for those of you wondering, he acknowledges her previous letters in chapter 15 when they have a semi short reunion. That's where more or less their gradual interaction with each other begins. I know, I know you guys have been waiting!_

_And I'm sorry you guys didn't like the last chapter :(_

_Happy Birthday to Astaralias!_

_Happy Birthday to Moviejunkie92! _

_(Both of which who celebrate their birthday on the 3__rd__)_

_Day 40 is 'Picture' by Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock._

_Day _39

I can hear your heart beat like the Morse code.

There are things I want to tell you, things I want to share.

Your thumb on my palm, tracing hearts and figure eights.

I wish I took you ice skating like I promised.

(Early in the morning, she hears his presence before she hears his words, and she smiles, blinking through her tears. "Happy birthday, _baby_." She grins as Finn slouches to bend her backwards in a kiss. She resolves to keep the sadness at bay today, she wants to feel magic. She wants to swim in happiness, she wants to feel _wonderful_. After he leaves, she'll hold onto the notes she brought with her to school before opening it, she decides this will be these will be the last notes she reads from Puck. She has to find her way back to who she used to be, back on the road to who she wants to _be_. She can't do that if she continues this cycle of abuse, self inflicted wounds. She'll begin to concentrate on herself, on her relationship with Finn.)

_Day _40

_since you've been gone, my worlds been dark and grey._

I found the picture from that day, and I don't know.

y_ou reminded me of better days, can't understand why we're living life this way._

You looked beautiful, your smile radiating from your lips to your eyes, through your face.

_living my life in a slow hell, i ain't seen the sunshine in three damn days._

I held it in my hands, and thought of us from before.

_i put your picture away, sat down and cried today._

Before, before. This happiness, the flirtations, the _togetherness_.

i_ wonder where you've been, i saw you yesterday with an old friend._

I called you, called you from a restricted number to hear your voice.

_i've been waiting for you for a long time, and i wish i had you to miss me._

I needed to know what happened between us those months ago was real.

i_ just called to say i love you, come back home, I swear i'll change my ways._

And I thought, I thought if I could hear your voice, then I would gather enough courage to mend this break.

i_ just called to say i love you, come back home, I swear i'll change my ways._

But I hung up when I heard Finn answer.

(She remembers that picture, she remembers it too well when he snapped it. She was staring at him, it's when she realized the full extent of her feelings for him, and she thought that everything them would work itself out. She smiled because she thought he'd always be there smiling _back_.

"What's a birthday without the sex?" Rachel grins up at Finn when he corners her by her lockers prior to lunch, and she has the decency to blush about the thought of school on academic grounds. "Maybe later, tiger.")

_Day _41

Cat has been giving dirty looks for the greater portion of this summer.

He fumes that I take greater walks on memory lane of you and me than I do with him.

I remember your birthday last year.

We didn't do much that day, I just stole you away from your parents and their dirty looks.

We went to hide away in your room, and later, on the roof.

We spent the night underneath the covers, and I brushed the hair out of your eyes that morning.

You stole the covers from me, and giggled when I kissed you, kissing you as the morning sun greeted the sky.

You mentioned it was your favorite birthday yet, and now, now I feel needles in my stomach for your 17th birthday.

And it's months away.

What if we don't resolve this rift, this fight?

What if your 17th birthday is spent without me?

I'm worried it would be better than your 16th.

(She ignores the butterflies settling in her stomach when she thinks back to that day. Finn pulls her into a supply closet during lunch, he holds her and her legs are wrapped around his waist, his thumb tracing her hip bones underneath her shirt, he tells her he loves her, the words settling onto the base of her collarbone. She thinks maybe happiness _is_ all it's cracked up to be, and maybe these butterflies can be attributed to Finn instead.)

_Day _42

You were sad that day at Glee, upset at losing another solo.

The orchids and tulips, the lilies and forget me nots.

I left gardenias across your room, the daisies and daffodils around your living room.

The bouquet made a dent in my wallet, a _sizable_ dent.

It was worth it to see you smile through your tears.

(It's hard to not to feel magic when he sends her nine dozen roses throughout the school day, one for each period and one for Glee. She brushes off the thought that she's never been much of a girl for roses, roses are red, and roses are _love_, and roses are the color of blood she saw several days ago. Finn would never let her bleed. He leads Glee in a rendition of 'Happy Birthday', and she's too distracted by the look in his eyes to wonder if Puck sings along.)

_Day _43

I've started seeing this girl.

She doesn't talk much, I'm dating her for the silence.

She isn't you but no one ever is.

I miss you. I miss you. _I miss you_.

(I put your picture away, I can't look at you when I'm with her)

(Rachel races home to change clothes prior to her scheduled arrival at Finn. He's still keeping the charade that her birthday party is a _surprise_. She doesn't have the heart to break it to him that she knows. She rushes around her room, pulling and throwing clothes out of her closet, unsure of what to wear.)

_Day _44

Cat and I are no longer speaking.

We argued earlier today.

He's unhappy with the ratio of the portions of food I put onto his plate.

He's also unhappy I refuse to let the neighbor's female cat come over so he can mate.

I know, buddy. I know your frustration.

(Everybody yells 'Surprise' when she walks in, and she has the _best _surprised expression, almost as if she didn't know about the party. She flutters around the house, a social butterfly, and Finn refuses to leave her side for _seconds, _and his concern is overwhelming adorable. She blows out the candles on her birthday cake, and smiles, a real smile, when Tina snaps a picture of her with Finn)

_Day _45

I don't discuss feelings.

But it's been a month of you and Finn.

Imagine how I feel.

("I'll be right back, babe. I just have to see something in my car." She kisses Finn, a sloppy kiss barely making it to his mouth, and goes out to the car to read Puck's note.)

_Day _46

My dad died today.

(Rachel drops the last note, watching it flutter down to the bottom of the drivers seat. She cradles her head in her hands, understanding magic can only last for so long, and hers has just run out.)

_PS. You guys break my heart with the reviews :( I love reading your feedback and I never get enough :(_


	15. Family Affair

_Author's Note: This chapter and pieces of the next will be the only one where the subject of Puck and his father will be discussed. Mine recently died, so I figured maybe it would be easier to write about it, and who easier to write about it with than Puck? But the writing came out difficult, hence why I don't want to discuss Puck and his father further. Pieces of it are choppy. I may go back and edit it prior to posting 16._

_Day_ 46

My dad died today.

It was an ordinary day, today. The sky was the color it had been all week, blanketed by blue and white, the kind of day I've experienced days before. The grass was green and I still had cereal for breakfast, my first thoughts were still of you. I took a shower, depressed as I am, I still have to keep the flies away.

(The hardest part is waking up every morning, I still have to live, and know I still haven't fixed my mistake)

The phone rang while I was in the shower, my mother took the call and I left the shower, and she looked at me with worried eyes, she told me the news and said we have to go. So we left, we left to identify the body.

We identified the body. We went home. I don't know where my mom went, but I know I went back to lay on my bed. I lay on my back, and I stared at the stars hovering, taped on my ceiling.

You put them there, to light my nights and darkest hours in the aftermath of Babygate.

You stood on your tip toes on my bed that day, you laughed at my offer of help.

("Why would I need your help if I'm doing this for you? _Honestly_, Noah. Use your logic.")

The stars didn't shine until I closed the curtains, I wanted to block the light.

(The stars would glow brighter with you)

I picked up my phone, and I wanted to call you.

But then I didn't know what I would say.

I didn't know if you would come.

So I didn't call but I thought about it.

I haven't told anyone, I haven't told Finn.

I haven't told Finn, and Finn and I have been friends since near birth.

I don't know if I should tell Finn, I don't know if I should tell anyone.

(Who would I want to tell, anyway?)

When someone dies, automatically, you think back to the last conversation you ever had. You replay their words, you memorize their speech, you commit to memory the things they said and _how_ they said it.

I can't remember the last conversation I had with my father, I've learned to block out the sound of his voice over the years, press mute at his frequent (infrequent) appearances.

Fist. Face. Bone. _Shatter_.

When I was younger, I was told how well I take after my father, childhood stories of how I tagged after him for his attention, mimicking his facial impressions, internalizing his suffering, and making my own way through bouts of depressive episodes. I've only ever heard as a child that I'm my father's son good looks and charm and all.

I was nine years old when I first called 911. I don't remember it like it was yesterday, but like a long long time ago, like it was a different me. Like it was _Noah, _Noah.

I don't talk to him because I have nothing to say, and I don't visit him because I would rather acknowledge he's gone, because I can't stand to look at him, knowing his blood flows in my body, ignoring the history of mental illness that criss crosses its way around my heart. After all, my father did grow up to be a replica of his, and we are what we're born with. I have enough optimism left to know I'm not like him but not enough to be sure. On the days that his calls stop, I catch myself from questioning if he's left, but then without fail, they begin again the next day, or even the following. There are few constants in life, these messages will always play on.

Argument. Push. _Shove_.

I live with my mother and my sister, and we've all sought medication as a coping mechanism, an attempt to dull the feeling. Therapy was futile when I was younger, what's the point of exchanging conversations if I became mute, and silence always has spoken louder than words, anyway. My sister was always considered to take on my mother's personality, but now she flashes characteristics of my fathers instead. It had felt like weeks since he called, even longer for his visits, but he stopped by randomly, and erased any calmness my sister developed. He used to deny that she was his daughter, raving that she looks nothing like him, but I'm sure if he saw her now, her eyes would be like looking in a mirror, lost along the way.

Screaming. Yelling. _Tears_.

Bruises fade but memories stay, like an imprint on the heart. There is not enough laser removal to remove a tattoo that runs this deep. This is more than an imprint on flesh, its' an imprint on bones and the soul. Unresolved issues, though not visible to the eye, fester like open wounds, the scars that never heal.

Life, despite my inability to maintain a relationship with my father, has now been drawn into a curtain of two. There is a before, there is an after.

(I want to go back to the before because at least the before has parts of _you_)

I don't talk about my father, I don't acknowledge his existence. That's the foreign part of it all.

But I would tell you, I would tell you everything.

(Everything)

There is a stunning clarity that arrives with loss.

Always, always we wait for people to leave before we realize what we should have said.

(The right words)

I can remember the last conversation we (me and you) shared. It was that night, that night I had whispered to you that our night together wouldn't mean a thing. You laid on your stomach, your hair falling softly around the edges of your face, a faraway look in your eyes, it was as if you knew what I was going to say before the words even landed in my head.

(That was the night a cold feeling nestled into my stomach, occupying space and not paying rent)

That's the last conversation we'll ever share if god forbid, something happened.

(If you're gone before we talk, that's all our last moment will ever be. The moments that followed where I didn't _try_)

I don't want that to be our last conversation, I don't want those to be my last words.

(I would trade all of my tomorrows for one yesterday, for that one day)

Those words, those words I spoke that night, are not the last ones I want you to have.

(I'm mad at myself for not saying all the things I could have said instead, all the things I _should_ have)

When I wake up tomorrow, the sun will be the same, it will be the same color, and everything around me will not have changed but I will be different, I will be changed.

(I will never be the same person I once was, I will never be the person you helped me to be)

I will write you note 47, and a note for every day after that, and I will still miss you with an ache inside my chest.

I could have spent the previous 45 days with you, those moments of nothings and somethings, and I could have been with you, and you with me.

(Instead of Finn)

I will alter myself if you stay, if you come back, please don't go, I am a fool.

I could live without my father, I've lived without him all along

(I don't know if I could live without you, I miss you, you're beautiful, I wish you were here)

(And just like that, Rachel stuffs the note in her bag, and sprints across the street to his darkened house.

She stands outside, her finger inches from the doorbell, and takes a breath, and presses.

She stands there, and waits, waiting to hear footsteps to come to the door and even after, she presses the doorbell a second time, she doesn't hear anything. Her feet can't stay still, and her lungs are closing in on her, and she's scared, she's afraid this may not be the best move, after all.

Just as she's about to turn around, and leave, and go back, the door finally opens.

"Hey."

"Hi.")


	16. How a Resurrection Really Feels

Author's Note: You guys, thank you so much! You're all so sweet :)

She stands there, her eyes still downcast, fidgeting from her right leg to her left, wondering if this is the best decision, or the worst she's made.

Finally, she looks up at him, and even in the dark, his expression is unreadable. He doesn't say anything else, neither does she but Puck opens the door to let her pass, a quick glance at the lights across the street.

Rachel stands awkwardly in his living room, and Puck, Puck can't think straight.

"Happy Birthday." He says, the first words that come to mind.

"Thanks. They're throwing me a party across the street. Just a bunch of kids from school, and Glee." _And Finn_, she wants to add but she thinks better of it.

He looks at her, he knows about the party. He wasn't invited, not that he had plans on attending, it would have hurt more than it should. He makes a mental note to ask Finn Monday about his invitation, anyway.

"So, why are you here?"

She shrugs, a shake of her shoulders conveying her loss for words.

"I don't know."

He nods, not fully understanding himself why she's here, either. He hasn't spoken to her in a close to a year now, he nearly forgot the sound of her voice the summer they were apart, school and Glee paused.

She looks at him, and thinks, thinks about the comfortable silence they've found themselves in, even after all this time.

He smiles, as if he can read thoughts, the sad smile she once knew like the palm of her hand, the creases she's known him to trace before. He smiles at her, and she can't help but smile in return.

"You're drunk."

She say it simply, it's fact. She can smell the liquor on his breath, even from slightly far away.

"True, Berry, True. But you're beautiful." He doesn't know why those are the words he chooses to reply with, of all the words at his fingertips.

She blushes. It never takes him much to bring the redness to her cheeks.

"That may be true, but it doesn't change the reality of the situation, you're still visibly intoxicated."

He walks over to her, short quick strides unlike Finn's, and he cups her face in her hands, and she feels her breath leave her body. She wonders if this is what she has been missing all this time, the feeling of someone stealing her breath with simple touches, and quiet looks like the ones he gives.

He looks at her, and she tries to keep the tears at bay, she's _missed_ him, and he speaks.

"I may be drunk _sometimes_, but you, you're _always_ going to be beautiful."

She kisses his cheek as a gesture of appreciation, the words inside her still failing.

"Dance with me, Berry."

She laughs. "That's _such_ a cliché."

Puck shrugs, and sticks out his hand. "You loved it."

She bites the inside corner of her lip, nearly drawing blood, and sighs, taking his hand. Puck makes no mention of the warmth he feels in his hand when she accepts, he just moves in closer and tries to hold onto this moment for as long as he can.

She follows his lead, she doesn't want to keep her control. She puts her hand on his chest, and has one hand around his waist. She's unbothered by the silence, she thinks it adds to the magic of the moment, until she hears him humming into her ear.

He hums, and she thinks back to the first time they found themselves doing this.

It was early September, a little over a year ago, when she mentioned the romance of dancing in the living room, like they do in all the fairy tales she's wanted to live out, and days later, he cornered her, and gave her her first dance.

His humming stops, and her thoughts collide, she drops his hand, he sticks his in his pockets.

"Your steps have gotten better." Rachel remarks, a twinge of jealousy circling around her heart, forming a nest.

"I've had practice." She nods, she's accepted the other girls in his life. She's accepted them but she likes to believe that they're not real.

"Cat doesn't let me lead as well as you do, though." She giggles, a flood of warmth circulating as a result of his answer.

"First, the talking and now the dancing?"

"He has to earn his keep. Last week, I threw out the spider living in my bathroom for not paying rent."

She laughs, and he smiles at her, and she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, to kiss him before she has a chance to think.

She doesn't know how they found themselves upstairs in his bed, fully clothed but underneath his covers, his thumb tracing patterns across her hip bone and her hand on his neck.

"I wish you called that day." Her words come out on a cloud of whispers, she's afraid raising her voice will destroy the impact she needs him to absorb. She wants to talk about this with him, she wants him to verbalize what was missing in his letters. He doesn't say anything relating to her words, he takes the conversation into a different direction.

"I read your letters."

She goes still at the subject of them, and waits for him to continue.

Finally, he begins again.

"I read your letters, I'm not surprised in the bitterness, the harshness of your tone in some of them. I didn't make it easy for you when I left that night, or in the days that followed. I was too preoccupied with things that didn't matter."

She doesn't say anything, she holds her breath for the words she wanted him to say so long ago.

"But I've seen you with Finn, you look happy. You look quiet, quiet but happy." Puck's voice takes on a resigned tone, startling Rachel when he begins to laugh bitterly.

"Actually, I'm not happy, that's a lie. I'm _pissed_ that you and Finn became together so soon after what happened between you and me. Isn't there some sort of grace period you could have followed? You and him, somehow, the two of you keep getting involved, and every time you get involved again, you drive in the knife a little deeper. You try, and you try again and _again_ with him, but there's no trying left for us, is there?"

He takes a breath before continuing. "What is it about us that makes you _not_ want to try? I spent a summer writing you letters, _letters_, Rachel, and still wasn't enough to bring you back. You're still with Finn, he threw you a birthday party, and even if you ended up here, which I still can't understand why you ended up here, I'm nearly positive you would prefer to be across the street. Tell me, tell me what I have to do to make things change."

She doesn't respond to his remarks on Finn, she doesn't want to think about Finn. She debates her response, a careful weight attached to her words but she doesn't get a chance to speak, a chance to tell him her thoughts. Instead, she watches him close his eyes, the effects of drinking earlier finally settling in. She thinks about the heaviness of his previous sentences, and she'll give him credit where credit is due, she will try again with Finn time and time again, but what's there to try with Puck, if he's never made an effort? _He_ left, he _left_.

She loves those letters, _loves_ the letters.

They're terribly romantic.

(Aside from the part where he talks about sex with Santana, and dating other girls)

They're honest, and they're real, and they're the truest things he's ever told her.

He's shared the truest part of himself he's never done before.

(But she wrote him a note asking him to give her time when she began to read them. Her time isn't up yet, she's only halfway through)

Rachel waits for him to fall asleep before she carefully edges out of his bed. She casually readjusts her clothes, and drops _Note_ 23, crumpled from her pocket, on the pillow, right next to his face. She gives him one last look over her shoulder, and then walks quietly down the stairs back to Finn's house.

She lets herself in, and walks up the stairs to his room, finding him asleep under a mess of covers and pillows. Kicking off her shoes, she moves a pillow to the side and crawls in with him. He doesn't open his eyes at the movement, and she feels grateful for that, she hasn't thought of an explanation for her bolting the previous night. She just curls herself to mold into his shape, and waits to deal with the night before in the morning.

But she thinks, she thinks as her eyes close.

_The most selfish thing you can do is stay in a relationship you're not committed to. _

AN II: Are there any good songs by Cobra Starship that could relate to Rachel? I'm not asking for this fic, I ask for my other one. And as always, reviews are love.


	17. Who Will Survive, What Will be Left

AN: You guys, you HAVE to tell me what you think of this chapter. OR I WILL NEVER UPDATE AGAIN. (I kid. I think) Anyway, it frightened me =x

Late the next morning, Finn awakens to see a sleeping Rachel cuddling to him close, her tiny hand wrapped around his waist, her head propped onto his shoulder. He sighs, a weary sigh that stretches to the bottom of his bones, but he doesn't move, afraid to wake her. He continues to lay there, still and immobile, his drifting thoughts leading him astray.

It took him some time, but he organized the pieces, he made them fit. He's learned scraps of Rachel's relationship with his best friend, scraps and bits of what transpired. He's almost positive they're in love with each other, but continuing to stay apart instead of resolving the problems between them. He's positive she's had sex with Puck, he's positive that his best friend has fallen in love with her, he's positive Rachel loves Puck back.

(They've fallen in love with the same girl, it feels as though he's watching a rerun of Dawson's Creek. _Fucking_ Hummel and those teenage dramas on the pier.)

(He's never played the role of the best friend, he's always the leading man)

He's noticed the looks Puck gives her, as if she hung the moon, the light that shines through the night time sky, the stars that she's in love with. Finn knows Rachel never looks back, _almost _as if it hurts her to physically breathe if she did.

(It does, her lungs clench and she loses air, each time she looks back at Puck, she wonders if this is when she'll lose her breath for good)

He's known about the letters for quite some time now. He found them that day in her house, reading through the final notes and the words trapped on the small pieces of paper made him sick, these words broke apart his insides. This is is _girlfriend_, this is his _best friend_.

(Even if they haven't been as close as they've been in the past, Puck is still his _best_ friend)

He feels violently ill when he thinks about the combination. He's never mentioned it to either one of them, he's at a loss of what to say to Puck. They've been best friends for years, since near birth, and now, since Finn began dating Rachel the first time around, neither of them can look each other in the eye. Rachel doesn't mention these letters either, and he can't bring himself to ask. He can't bring himself to believe the veracity of his thoughts, he lives in denial.

She stays with him because he's the safer alternative, he's the lesser of two hurts. Finn supposes he should be grateful for this, grateful for this consolation prize and in some ways, he is. Other ways, other times, he wants to put his fist through the wall to see the blood, to see the damage on the inside bleeding out. He wants to show her the blood, the evidence, she makes him bleed inside out. He bleeds at the seams, and she _never_ notices a thing.

(And if not his fist to demonstrate, then Puck's face)

Finn feels her move next to him, and he leans over to his side, one arm underneath his head and one arm moving to her the back of her neck, fingers rubbing the bones. He can't help not to touch her, the curves of her body memorized by his eyes, his fingertips. He doesn't say anything, really. He doesn't know if there _is_ much to say.

"Where did you sleep last night? It wasn't here, I know you only crawled in bed with me in the early hours of the morning." There's no accusation underlying his words, nothing but the ordinary sound of his speech.

She shifts uncomfortably underneath the covers, fidgeting softly next to him but she makes no move to leave, and he makes no move of forcing her to.

"I spent some time with a friend." She finally replies, her hesitation evident.

(Was this the wrong thing to say? She thinks)

Finn laughs bitterly, the sound escaping from the back of his throat before he can stop it, before he can stifle the pain. _Friend_. Her and Puck have never been _just_ friends, even when they _were_ friends. They were always in that gray area, the in between, taking everything with them for the ride.

He means to ask her now, to ask her if she was with Puck but he doesn't. He asks questions he doesn't want to know the answer to.

"Does he know the pressure points of your neck? Your favorite place to be touched is the spot I trace, the back of your neck where my fingers currently rest. What does he know about you lately, or at all, that I couldn't tell you? Do you love him? Is this about love? What is this about?"

He shakes his head. "You don't have to answer that, I know you love him. I know you love him with parts of yourself you'll never give to me. You'll never bruise yourself as easily for me as you do for him."

"Why are you doing this?" She speaks, surprised her voice can find sound.

"I'm not doing anything. I just want to know, I want to know how he fixes you, how he fixes you if you're always _still _broken when you come back to me."

She doesn't answer, she doesn't want to be having this conversation, she's on the verge of tears. She wants to put her hands to her ears, she wants to drown out the sound. Finn is her safety zone, the net that catches her when her cells split apart, forgetting to regenerate, he's not catching her, he's making things worse. He's stripping her defenses bare, he was supposed to keep her safe, keep the hurt at bay. There is a coldness, the coldness of his word and the touch of his hands on her skin, seeping into her bloodstream, into her veins.

"But I'm trying, Rachel. I'm trying, which is more than I can _ever_ say for you. I love you, I love you and you're ruining me, you're in love with someone else and you won't let me go. Every girl after you will have the damaged version, there will be no love left to give." Finn's voice doesn't hover above a whisper, only the simple resignation skating through his tone. He stops, his throat suffocating by everything he wants to ask.

"Why do you stay?"

She looks at him, she tries to meet his eyes but he doesn't stare back.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I stay?"

"You don't love me, you don't feel what I feel for you. _Why_ do _you_ stay?"

She turns her head to the ceiling, and doesn't answer him, she's afraid of herself, and what her response, an explanation she doesn't understand herself at times. He doesn't wait long for her answer, simply continuing into everything he's bottled inside these past months.

"I try _so_ hard, I do. I stay with you at all of your weakest moments, and I _still _love you for them. I could _never _love you less. Not when I find you crying in the shower, not when you're yelling in your sleep. Not when you wake up every morning with the bruises of the night written as clear as day on your face. Sometimes, I don't understand, I don't get it. What reasons do you have for treating me like this, all the _fucking _time? I'm trying, and you're just, I don't know, you're just not there sometimes. I even went to Miss Pillsbury, I wanted her to talk some sense into you, to talk you out of that ledge of depression you keep climbing onto. It went fine, I think, for a couple of days until you bailed last night on the birthday party I planned for you, you bailed on _me_. What is it going to take for you to stop hurting me?"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Rachel asks, pieces of her insides frightened to hear the answer. She doesn't focus on his words, his sentences that are cutting like knives across her skin, shards of glass splitting her open. She can't think of those words he's just said, he's brought back splinters into her fragile skin.

He doesn't say anything, his gaze directed upwards towards the ceiling. Finally, he breaks the silence between them, the comfort between them breaking, a roll of dominos falling across the floor, the awkwardness turning into tension.

(They will never go back prior to this moment, Finn will never be able to take back these words)

"No. I _can't_ break up with you, I don't know what it is, but there's always something that brings me back to you, something that ties my heart to you, like a parasite, whether you want it or not. If you walk, when you walk away, I'll _always _follow you, right through everything. I _always _fight for you, I always let you come back to me when you're lonely, or when you're sad, or whenever you're feeling like you're _fucking _feeling. You can't even _fucking_ argue that, you know it's true. If you want this to be over, which you're always swinging back and forth on, anyway, because you can't make up your _god damn _mind, then you're going to have to do it. You're going to have to break up with me. You will sever these ties between us, the ones that always bring you back to me. You're going to have to say it, and you're going to have to mean it because I can't, I can't leave you and mean it, not as easily as you can."

The pair lays like that for the longest time, and after enough time has elapsed, Rachel stands, unable to look back at Finn, and walks out of his room to her car. She can't speak, he's taken her words, and she can barely stand, her feet are wobbling beneath her. She aches in places she never knew existed.

Finn presses his hands to his face, wondering where the two of them progress from this point. He shakes his head, he doesn't even know if they can move forward. Putting on the rest of his clothes, he locks his house, jogging across the street to Puck's.

He rings the doorbell, jumping up and down for the blood to circulate in his body, to bring back the warmth he lost when Rachel left yesterday.

Puck opens the door, scratching the back of his neck, bleary eyed, a little worse for the wear.

"Hey, man. You wanna come in?"

Finn just came to talk, to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he looks at Puck and he sees the face Rachel is in love with, and he acknowledges the unspoken words between them with his fist to Puck's eye.

"Dude, what the _fuck_ is your problem?" Puck presses his hand to his face, positive Finn's fist is going to leave a mark, a bruise of black and blue.

"You. You are my problem. I need you to stay away from my girlfriend, I need you to leave her alone, I need you to cut the shit and just give her the _fuck_ up. You don't have to watch her _break_ into millions of tiny pieces all the time, you're not part of her life but you're _still_ bleeding her dry, your presence still cutting across her skin. If you care for her at all, you'll let her go, you'll let her be _fucking_ happy. This fascination, this _sick_ fascination between the two of you has to stop. She won't tell you, and you won't either so I'll tell you. It's _fucking_ over between you two. You're _nothing _to her, you're _nothing_, just like your father."

The color drains out of Puck's face, and he leans on the door knob, his eye forgotten. He punches Finn to the face, and can't bring himself to stop. He stands up, shaking out the pain beneath his hand, and moves to speak.

"Look, man. Whatever you think happened last night _didn't_ happen. She spent the night talking about how wonderful you are." Puck lies, the bitterness veiled carefully behind his words. He's been hiding these feelings for Rachel for so long, they only come to the surface attached with bitterness and regret.

"Don't _fucking_ lie to me. Half the time, she doesn't even remember I exist. Especially, _especially_, if she's around you, and those _fucking_ letters. Those letters you wrote to her that keep her attached to you. What the _fuck_. Those stupid _fucking_ letters."

Puck shrugs, throwing his hands in the air.

"Is that what you want me to say? What do you want me to say? That I had sex with her one night and _left_? That this whole thing started because I was too coward to admit my feelings for her? That she went to be with you because I wouldn't? That I want to punch you in the face when I see you touch her, not even touch her, just see you _with_ her. I'm in love with her, I spent a summer in love with her, I'm spending my fall in love with her. You're here, bitching and whining about her, you haven't realized you're her _fucking_ second choice. She's _settling_ for you. She's with you because you would never hurt her, not like I would. You're the fucking _safer_ choice but no one said you were the _better_ one. Is that what you want to hear? Tell me what you want to hear."

Finn doesn't even bother waiting for the words to finish leaving Puck's mouth before punching him again, inciting another brawl between the two of them on the front porch, leaving both of them damaged and bruised, fractured bones.

Finn is the first to stand, his feet barely supporting his weight beneath him, his hand clutching the side of his rib cage, and looks at Puck, his upper lip bleeding.

"Our friendship, whatever is left of this _fucking_ friendship, is over if you don't suffocate those feelings. You're _fucking_ dead to me if those feelings don't change."

Finn walks back across the street, not bothering to wait for his response.

Distracted by her conversation with Finn, Rachel doesn't go home. She begins to drive around aimlessly, searching for a sense of direction. Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel angrily, she's too preoccupied to notice the other car she drives into.

AN: It shouldn't be a surprise that Finn knows about the relationship between Rachel and Puck, hints of it have been left starting the first chapter.

The way that I've written this story, or tried to, is that it starts with a girl. There's always a girl in high school who wants that one boy, who sometimes, whatever the reason, they can't be together. So, sometimes, that same girl settles for someone else, for the next best thing, the one that she stays with because she can't have the first choice, or the one she stays with because it's less hurtful. Similar to what Rachel does with Finn in this story, she stays with him because he doesn't hurt her, and he treats her wonderfully. And sometimes, sometimes the second choice knows that he's second best but he stays, anyway because he cares for that girl, and because he settles for whatever he can have. Does that make sense? It did in my head. Anyway, I love all of your reviews, and I'm glad so many of you enjoy it. Despite the Puckleberry interaction, they're still not going to be together right away. If you have any criticism/feedback, I'd love to hear it. Your reviews are love :) (I've turned into such a sucker for reviews that it's unhealthy)

Up Next:

Nothing Good Comes from Funerals

("I guess we're just all phone call from our knees.")


	18. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

AN #1 – _Note_ 23 was written prior to Rachel's meeting with Puck, prior to her reading the last batch of letters the day of her birthday.

Puck didn't bother staring at Finn's retreating figure walking across his front yard, he shook his head and he went inside to grab an ice pack for his face. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he shuddered.

This _fucking_ sucks, he thinks. Taking the bag of peas, he ignores the dirty stares of Cat, and walks upstairs to his room, gingerly lying down on the bed. He casts a look at the note she left, and he groans, pressing the bag harder into his face. He's read it five times already, and was halfway through memorizing it the sixth time when Finn arrived, angry and violent. He drops the peas, and goes back to the note, figuring his face isn't going to look better at this point, anyway.

_Note_ 23

As most stories often do, it begins with a girl and a boy. There's always a boy in high school, that boy that every girl wakes up and goes to school for. _Always_. For a long time, that boy for me was Finn. Despite the girlfriend, despite the _pregnant_ girlfriend, despite everything else, that boy for me was Finn. That boy for me was Finn, until it wasn't Finn, it was you.

(That night, you stood outside my window and threw rocks, damaging my window pane and loitering on public property. You're fortunate my fathers didn't contact the authorities)

The next day when I walked up to you to yell, you looked at me like you didn't need a friend so I stayed, when I didn't let it hurt that you compared me to a sexually transmitted disease instead.

(Those last _forever_, I hope you've gotten one by now)

I'm still astounded you willingly agreed to spend time with me.

(Your voice settled into my heart, a pattern I grew to re-trace over and over)

I contorted the words to what I wanted to hear, and we fell into a pattern of being _us_.

(We became Siamese twins until we were cut in half, twins cut of your own doing)

I liked Sundays, perched atop my kitchen counter, and you sung me 'Sunday Morning' by Maroon 5 in a lazy whisper, that smirk across your face.

(You bit my ear lobe, and I nearly died of laughter. Really, who bites _ear lobes_?)

You're not the most fantastic cook, Finn cooks circles around you.

(But I never minded, not when you tried so hard)

I remember the mornings when I woke up without you, the texts were the first thing I'd see.

(Or if I had to fall asleep without you, you'd stay on the phone with me, breathing across the miles)

I like the way you look in your jeans, I liked them better when you started spending the night, those jeans strewn across my bedroom floor.

(We were just sleeping, the whispers flickering across us in the night, the shadows dancing across the walls)

The first night you fell asleep, your hand across my spine, you left mountains of goosebumps across my skin.

(Left right left left left, I missed the way your hand fit mine -- Like it belonged)

We were together, we were together until we weren't.

(There were no arguments between us, no bitter words, all that was left was the reality of the situation)

You slept with me, and you wanted me to believe it didn't mean anything to either of us (but most of all, you wanted me to believe it didn't mean anything to _you)_

(So, I nodded. I lied. This wouldn't mean a thing, it wouldn't wouldn't wouldn't.)

You could leave, and I wouldn't break.

(I would continue to carry on like I did in the time before you)

When you left, I cried. I cried tears I never knew I have, a salty trail falling across my skin.

(Now, now I don't remember you leaving, I just remember waking in the darkness of my room, blankets and pillows covering my floor)

I picked up the phone, I wanted to ask you, I wanted to ask if you're really gone. I wanted to plead, I wanted to apologize.

(And I wasn't even at fault)

This is how I felt after you. Sad, I felt sad.

(Lost, and empty. _Splinters _crumbling, like my feet underneath me. Confused, difficult, fragmented, I felt like hollowed out skin, the disintegration of my bones)

I still, still, can't understand why I wasn't good enough for you, even when I was the only one that stayed with you.

(Who did I have to become to make you stay?)

I became _everyone_ to you, because if we're discussing honesty, you should admit to yourself you didn't have anyone else. I became everyone to you, and I still wasn't good enough, I still wasn't _enough_.

(It wasn't about the sex, it was about everything _else._ It was about the lack of acknowledgement of us, how I let myself _trust_, exposed and thin skinned, vulnerable and _naked_.)

And after you, after you, I picked myself off the floor and I let Finn repair what you broke.

(To fix my insides)

And still, you _still_ have the _audacity_ to pass judgment on how I fixed myself, on how I fixed what you broke.

(Finn is wonderful, and kind, and lovely. He exemplifies adjectives of love.)

He's safer for me, he'll keep me safe, he's the wiser option. Nobody said he was the better one, but I just want a boy who won't break my heart.

(Who won't leave me as easily as you did, without a second thought without your second glance)

I'm trying to undo the damage to my heart, I need someone safe.

(I'm not using Finn if he understands, if he wants this)

Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, he whispers my name back to me, the beauty of things I have forgotten, and I trace his lower lip with my thumb.

We're happy in a way most shouldn't be happy, this pseudo relationship between us, always the feelings I won't give him.

And I did, I liked you for so long, with you and without you, I felt it was love inside, the feelings I won't give to him.

(I loved you but I wasn't aware of what that meant)

(but love breaks)  
Love, sometimes, love means letting go.

It means letting go (alone) and getting up (alone).

I can't love, I can't love Finn and he's accepted it, he's fine with it. I've lost the love inside me the way others lose their sight, their speech, the way it never comes back.  
Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror, and I look sick, I look ill, and he still looks at me _that_ way.

(But maybe, maybe one day I could. One day far far_far_ away)  
The last time I cried, I was sitting in the bath tub, and I was sad, and I was unhappy, and he crawled in with me, his long legs covering my tiny frame.

(He hates to see me sad, he hates the mess of sorrow that resides in my lungs)

And everything, everything was traveling at a wonderful pace until that day you said my last name, the way you used to always say it

(like it was a secret you were telling me back, it was just for us)

when I found you in my room, when you kissed me.

When _you_ kissed _me_.

I broke up with Finn, I broke up with him when I couldn't kiss him without lying, when doubt laced itself with the words I told him.

(I couldn't kiss him without wanting to kiss you instead)

That moment at Sectionals, the rush of applause from the crowd, the feeling of being wanted, is difficult to replicate. I loved that moment, I love the stage. I'm happiest being someone else.

(Until you changed that feeling for me, you made like _who_ I was)

I loved that adoration but applause can only last for so long.

(Until you changed me back)

Once it's over, once it's expired, feelings of emptiness fill its place.  
(I didn't have anyone to share that moment with, and I felt terribly lonely, it wasn't like I expected the arrival of my dreams to feel.)

There is all this distance between us, this distance I don't know if we could ever bridge.

And I don't know if I can do this for much longer, I don't know how much longer I can cling to memories of you and I. I need to move on, and you need to find something else to do with your life.

These letters, they're beautiful, they're eloquent, they're worded as if you've read them to me yourself. They're written from you, they're written of you.

(There's nothing left between us, nothing but these memories, these letters I can't bear to read them anymore)

But there are things I know, things that are fact.

I love you, but I can't stay _in_ love with you.

Despite what the contents of the final letter say, you haven't written me a promise for a happy ending.

(It's not a promise for you and I.)

You will, always always, be that guy I fell in love with, the one that I'm unable to be with.

(The one that I love so _so_ much but I could never really have)

It's okay, it's _okay_, I haven't accepted this yet, but I will.

(We were just two people who _weren't_ meant to be together, to fall in love)

Jarred out of his thoughts by the sound of his cell phone, he answers it without checking the caller ID.

"Noah, I think you should meet me at the hospital."

Puck rolls his eyes at the sound of his mother's voice, she's always trying to finagle him into meeting after work for dinner.

"It's important, Rachel's here."

Puck's eyes widen in shock. "I'll be right there."

Grabbing his keys, he locks the door, wondering if the time for last conversations between him and her has arrived.

AN: Thanks for the reviews! After I posted the chapter, I went to bed and had a nightmare none of you liked it, so then I panicked I was a poor writer. I think I've been writing too much. Also, regarding Finn, I do write him smarter than he is on the show, as many of you pointed out. I like to think somewhere under that oblivion, he's capable of human intelligence. Do you guys care about the lack of other characters in this story? It's mostly Rachel centric, anyway, and she's never been known to have many friends. Also, for those who believe this accident is the key to their reunion together, I wouldn't count on it. Do you guys like the progress of the story? Or how it's written? As always, reviews are love. (Oh, you guys called this fic EPIC. My heart swells)


	19. We'll Be Alright

Here's what happens.

Puck makes it to the hospital in record time, his mom is nowhere to be found. Antsy, he prowls the floors, searching for a sight, or a clue of Rachel's room. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and is about to start from the first floor again when he spots Finn. Hesitantly, he walks over and stands next to him. He fights an internal battle inside his head, _should_ he say something, _some_ form of acknowledgement? Glancing at Finn, he keeps his mouth shut, remembering Finn threw the first punch.

Finn, noticing the glance out of the corner of his eye, grunts at Puck, but he doesn't say anything. Puck wants to ask Finn how she is, but then he sees her through the window, arguing with the nurse, and being difficult. A smile tugs at the corners of Puck's mouth, of _course_ Rachel would be difficult, even from a hospital bed. His eyes narrow at an upbeat Rachel. His mom worried him for _nothing_. He's definitely going to have a talk with her about this later.

Rachel sees Finn and Puck both standing outside her door, she sees them through the glass window, their worried reflections echoing back to her face. Murmuring a comment to the nurse, they're surprised to see the nurse walk over to the side of the door, and they become happy, anticipating that they could visit. Instead, they come to wear matching expressions of disbelief when the nurse closes the curtains, blocking the boys from sight.

Rachel turns her attention back to the soft glow of the television. Biting her lip, she stifles the feelings of guilt for not letting them in, she wants to be alone through these current moments. She was in a car accident, a broken arm to show for it, significant rib injuries, and scratches covering the side of her forehead. She wants some privacy, and she wants to not have to think about her feelings led astray.

(She also thinks she _may_ need some more medication.)

Refusing to think of serious things, she lets the light of the television lull her to sleep.

Two hours later, she's awoken by slight movement coming from the food cart the nurse pulled in. The nurse gives her a warm smile, and Rachel sleepily declines the food, she'll eat later.

Bleary eyed, she opens her eyes to find Puck hopping out from underneath the covers of the food cart. Up close, she notices the trail of bruises across his lower jaw, the cut on his upper lip. She files a mental note to inquire about his bruises at a later point.

"You've got to be kidding me. You snuck into my room on a food _cart_? Who did you sleep with to get an agreement?" She's mildly flattered, not that she would tell him that.

He shrugs, shaking the dust off his shoulders, sitting down on the chair by her bed.

"How else was I supposed to come in?" He props his elbows up on her bed, and she gives him a look of disgust.

"I don't know, maybe you could have tried the door. Or the door knob. I'm sure it opens."

"You do realize that you told the nurses that Finn and I aren't allowed to come in here, right? You do remember the threats of death you leveled on them, right?"

She nods. Of course she remembers. She was very specific in describing the two boys.

"Then, how was I supposed to use the door?"

"I don't know, I didn't think of that. Why are you antagonizing a sick person? Where are your manners? Did you bribe the nurse? What did you bribe the nurse with? Is that a felony? What amount of jail time is that attached to? Maybe I'm hallucinating, they have me on a significantly high dosage of medication, after all. I've never been fond of medication, but here I am, _medicated_. Not medicated enough, apparently, if I'm imaging you and food carts."

He ignores her comment, and takes his elbows off her bed. Curiously, she watches as he stands up, and crawls in with her.

"Why are you crawling in with me? I think you need to move out of my safety zone immediately. I don't believe this is proper behavior for a hospital zone. There are sick people here, and you're crawling into bed with me. Much like the heathen you are, actually." She looks on, panicked, as he adjusts the covers, covering himself with some of hers.

"And now, now you're taking my _covers_. You're not even _sick_."

He burrows his head into her shoulder, ignoring her ramble, and puts his arm gently across her waist.

(She still winces)

"Your hair smells like coconut."

"Thanks, I think. It's this new shampoo my dads brought me back from overseas. Very potent smell, very expensive. Why are you changing the subject? Let's talk about the fact that you snuck into my room when I _specifically_ asked to not be disturbed, and _then_, you crawled into my bed. I think you're trying to take advantage of an ill patient."

"I don't like coconut."

She grins at the top of his head, he feels her smile.

"I'll be sure to use it more often then."

The two of them fall into a silence, he's the first to break.

"You're alive."

"And breathing too. I wasn't sure if I could hold my breath that long."

"Stop being a smart ass."

She stays quiet, hearing the twinge of polite anger in the sound of his voice. She decides to change the subject, she doesn't want to discuss the accident.

"How did you get the bruises? You didn't have them when I left."

"Maybe you're a sleep ninja, bruising people in the midst of the night, and they appear once you're gone, like a calling card."

She rolls her eyes. Leave it to Puck to compare her to a _ninja_. She mulls it over in her mind, and realizes that may be _slightly_ fantastic. She's always wanted to be a form of superhero, or related to comics. Her gaze sharpens as she remembers the bruises.

"No, seriously. How did you get them?"

"Your _boyfriend_." He makes no effort to hide the evident disdain creeping into his voice.

"What was the argument in reference to?" She ignores his quip regarding Finn, she doesn't know where things lay with him. She'd rather not think of him, either. Their argument from earlier is still fresh in her head, a gaping wound. She's still unsure if it's _really_ over between them. He did say she would have to break up with him, and she didn't say those words on her way out the door.

"I told him I loved you." He's surprised at his bluntness, his inability to _actually_ straight up tell her the truth, and not pass off the bruises as related to something else.

She doesn't say anything, the words surprise her less than they should. She adjusts her body to lean down to him, and they become forehead to forehead. Her fingertips want to crawl over the bruises, but she keeps her hands to her side.

"That's nice." She whispers softly, she doesn't know what the proper terminology exists for these type of situations.

He groans, amused at her response. "I tell you I love you, and _that's_ your response?"

"Well, you told him those words, not me."

"You have a point." That's all he responds, and she's grateful. She's laying in a hospital bed with a boy, a boy she can't define in her life, and she doesn't know how she can use these words. After her argument with Finn, her drive led to thoughts, thoughts she isn't sure she would have had otherwise. Maybe her relationship (with either boy) isn't what she assumed it to be. Maybe these feelings weren't born out of love, maybe they grew from a childish infatuation. Perhaps even a bout of insanity. Maybe what she assumed would be love were nothing but feelings otherwise.

"This feels a little strange, you laying here. We haven't spoken in close to a year, and now you're here, staring at me and we're talking, as if old times, as if things haven't changed. Shouldn't we talk about this? Shouldn't this mean something?" She talks quietly, monotone if even. She wonders if this is an appropriate conversation to have, given their current positions in this bed, and lately. The wheels in her mind are turning, and she grows worried.

"It does mean something, you just haven't realized it yet." He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her reaction, her answer. He wonders how someone so smart could be so _dense_ sometimes.

She shakes her head, and looks at him with a pensive expression. "What could it mean?"

He kisses her on the forehead, and sits up. He doesn't say anything, simply opens and closes his mouth several times, similar to the motions of a fish. Finally, he speaks.

"I'll be back later, I'll let you think about it while I'm gone."

Rachel throws the remote at Puck's head as he's walking out her hospital door, and she misses him by inches, and hears his laugh on her weak aim. Frustrated, she brings her hands to her face and wishes she could throw less like a girl.

(She'll come to regret throwing the remote when she's stuck watching daytime talk shows until a nurse visits _five_ hours later.)

Author's Note: Muchos gracias to Astaralis for her wonderful e-mail, reviews, AND for being my muse for this chapter. Without her, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have finished anything. As always, reviews are love. (And I'm sorry this chapter was poorly written.)

I'm actually participating in that formspring craze, if you guys are interested. Please feel free to do so at formspring(dot)me(slash)pinkeezy.

Also, I re-wrote Chapter 1. And how cute are Mark/Lea in the new Facebook video? Swoon.


	20. When it Isn't Like it Should Be

Her ribs ache, and her eyes feel like sandpaper. There are cuts across her arm, red scars against her flesh. She moves a hand to trail across the cuts, but she winces, the movement hurts her ribs. She thought that the pain is supposed to be the worst on the first day, and evidently, she was wrong. If anything, the pain is steadily increasing. Stupid car, stupid accident, stupid stupid _stupid _thoughts of Finn and Puck. If she wasn't thinking of the two, she wouldn't have ended up in this position, cuts on her arm from the glass of her window, her ribs injured from the force of the other car. She wouldn't have ended up with a broken arm, and bruises scattered down her leg.

Holding her blackberry in her hand, she debates texting Puck, she wants to resolve things from yesterday. She remembers stringing together a bunch of sentences and him staring back at her, expectantly but she has no idea what that was in relation to. She hasn't figured out what his words were supposed to be mean, but truth be told, she hasn't given it much thought. Her head has been killing her, tiny gnomes circling around her brain with hammers. She thinks she may need more medication but the nurse has been avoiding her room. It's not as if Rachel doesn't see her walking back and forth through her window, she _sees _her but the nurse scurries along. Honestly, she thinks. She may have to complain to her fathers regarding the help.

Surprised to feel her phone vibrate, she drops it into her lap. Picking it up, she scrolls through her new messages, opening a text from Puck.

_Glad you're okay._

_(_Puck is glad she's okay, when his mother came home that night, he threw a classic fit about her ability to scare him. She just smiled at him knowingly, and patted his head, walking away with a smirk. He stood there, _pissed_. He doesn't know what's with people these days. Walking back upstairs to his room, he found the last letter Rachel wrote him. Reading it again, he realized maybe he should do what Finn suggested, maybe it's time to cut the strings that tie. Maybe it's better for everything involved. He's seen how sad she's been lately, and he hates it.)

She feels herself smile in spite of herself, in spite of her raw eyes, and the wooziness in her head.

(He _does_ care. There's hope for them yet.)

_Are you stopping by today?_

(He did promise to stop by but she threw the remote at his head, maybe he changed his mind.)

She holds her phone, surprised by how anxious she feels. She hasn't spoken to him in so long, but here he is, becoming a part of her life again. She's dismayed by how _okay_ she is with the whole thing.

_No, I have a date_.

(Puck doesn't _really_ have a date but he's not prepared to tell her that. He recognized her yesterday, he recognized how her hands clenched when he leaned in too close. He saw the dark circles underneath her eyes, the smudges purple as if traced with a Crayola crayon. Her face was ashen, and not just from the accident. She's not ready for anything involving him, that much was clear. It's also selfish of him, he doesn't want to deal with a depressed Rachel. He doesn't want to deal with those mood swings, that fucking _sadness_ that she carries around, an anchor tied to her weight, he's seen what its done to Finn.)

She blinks, stunned into silence.

(That _asshole. _She doesn't believe in the usage of vulgar terminology, but she believes this a situation that calls for it.)

She isn't sure what to respond to that, she isn't sure there is a response to that. She feels her phone vibrate, and opens his second text.

_Sorry_.

(Puck's head hurts, he _knew _he shouldn't have had that third drink. He wants to let her get her head together, let her grow some sense before they pursue a relationship. God, when the_fuck_did he become so _selfless_? Then, he thinks about it, and he realizes his ulterior motives. He's not being selfless, he's being fucking _selfish_. He doesn't want to deal with her shit, and the mess of emotions she's found herself in. He _hates_ a sad Rachel, he always hated a sad Rachel. Whenever she was passed up for Glee solos, a faraway look fell into her pupils, and he tried as hard as he could, that upset feeling she had _fucking lasted_. He ignores the gnawing voice in the back of his head that keeps repeating he's the root cause of it.)

She holds the phone between her fingers on her lap, her fingers strumming across the keys while she thinks of a reply. Pensive, she debates whether or not a reply is even necessary.

(What the _fuck_ does she need his sorry for, anyway?)

(Puck thinks if there is anything else he should say, he had a moment of clarity around here _somewhere_, and now he's lost it. He doesn't bother pouring himself another drink, just lays back on his bed and puts the pillow over his face to muffle his screaming.)

"Hey." She looks up, startled, and sees Finn leaning against the doorway.

"Hi."

He walks over, and sits down in the chair next to her bed; gangly legs sticking out everywhere. She's amused, she doesn't know why this makes her laugh. He's always been a tangle of limbs to her, either covering her with his arms or his legs.

"How are you feeling?"

She laughs, slightly wincing in pain. "As good as can be expected, I guess. My ribs ache, and my head hurts but I'm alive, so that's a plus."

He moves to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, dropping his hands when he realizes what he's doing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. Old habits die hard."

She gives him a small smile, a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. He rubs his hands on his legs, and tries to steady his breathing.

(She doesn't say anything about the bruises he left on Puck's face, she figures Finn will be the first to bring it up, anyway. She's almost curious to see what story Finn will spin, if he avoids the truth.)

"I've been thinking about us, after you left, and yesterday. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things."

She shrugs. "Don't be, they had to be said. They may have been said a little late, but they should have been thrown out there, for the both of us." She gazes at him, waiting for his following words to become better.

"I think we should break up."

A soft sarcastic laugh on her part comes out, quicker than she expected, and she motions for him to continue. This day just keeps getting better and _better_.

"He told me he loves you." Finn starts wringing his hands together, agitated, he's clearly disturbed by this thought. "He said he loves you, and I'm your second choice, not the better choice, which I've known for a while now."

(Finn thought a lot about the words Puck shouted at him from the previous _previous _day, the emotions he threw around. Maybe his best friend does love her, maybe she loves him back. He just knows he can't play second fiddle for much longer, not at the rate Rachel's heading towards a crash.)

Her face falls at his last words. Finn has always been amazing perceptive to her emotions, not necessarily to everything else. She opens her mouth to speak, but he makes a hand gesture to let her continue.

"I thought about it, and you're always leaving and leaving me to come back later, to come back when you're hurting. I think I was wrong, I don't think _you_ have to break up with me. I think _I_have to leave you. I don't think I can be there for you anymore." He closes his mouth several times, back and forth like a fish, and then he breathes heavily, _almost_ distraught at what he has to say next.

"I'm not going to stand in your way, or his way, if the two of you want to be together."

(Finn says this and means it, there are no hidden agendas attached to his words. He recognizes how unhappy she is with him, how dissatisfied she is at being unable to be with his best friend. He figures he's going to take the high road, and not stand in their way, and he figures if the merged union of Rachel and Puck spontaneously combusts, he'll have nothing to do with it_and_ he could be free to have a shot with her free and clear. He's not a complete _ass_ like Puck, he does want to see Rachel happy, with or without him, preferably with him but he'll take what he can receive.)

She nods, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, frightening Finn.

(But then he sees her crying, and he thinks the union of Rachel and Puck is the _worst_ idea ever if it makes her cry.)

"What's wrong? I thought this was what you wanted."

She sniffles, and he moves to wipe a tear from her eye.

"It is, but I don't think he wants the same thing anymore."

Finn tilts his head, perplexed.

(What the _fuck_ was the whole scene yesterday about then, if Puck _doesn't_ want the girl?)

He can only watch as she moves her hands to her face, and her body wracks with sobs. He sighs, for all the times he's seen her cry, he _still _gets upset at seeing those tears, and he crawls into the bed, and puts his arm around her small frame. He covers her with blankets, assuming a more protective stance as her body naturally curls into his. He feels like _shit_, and he's not even sure why.

(It's not like he even did anything, he came here to be the _better_ person for once, to stay out of their way. Finn's arms cover her, and he should leave, he _should _leave but he figures he'll start avoiding her tomorrow. He'd feel worse than he does now if he leaves her when she's crying hysterically, even if she is crying hysterically about Puck.)

She sniffles against his chest, her tears staining his new shirt and he waits for her crying to settle down. He also wonders if Tide will wash out the stains, and the germs.

"He snuck, he _snuck_ in to see me on a food cart, and it was nice, and it felt like _before_, before he became an ass again, and then he left, and I threw the remote at his head, and now he's on a _date_. He rushed here to see me, and I saw the bruises on his face, the ones you left him, he said he told you he _loves _me, _and_ now he's with _another_ girl. I forgot how much I wanted him until I saw him the night I snuck out to see him. I forgot how _badly_ I missed him, how much my heart wanted to be near him. I buried those feelings for so long, and now he ditched _me_."

All of a sudden, her ramble ceases and she looks up at Finn, still holding a worried expression on his face.

"Do you think I dreamt the whole thing? I was on a lot of medication yesterday, I could have hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe I wanted him to be here so badly I dreamt him."

(But she didn't dream it, she couldn't have. A food cart, the _jackass_ came to visit me on a food cart and now he's having sex with some slut. _Seriously_.)

Finn rubs her hair back from her face, rubbing her head back and forth, jotting down notes for ways to kill Puck.

(Seriously, Finn steps out of the picture for the two of them to reunite and Puck pulls this _shit_?)

"You didn't dream it. I saw him yesterday, I guess he came in when I left. He looked worried, and then he looked relieved. Then, he grinned when he saw you through the window."

Rachel ignores him, launching into another tangent of hers, almost as if Finn's words didn't register with her.

"I need more medication, I need to feel less."

Finn rolls his eyes. "You don't need more medication, I'll stay here with you and we'll ride the pain out together, okay?"

She doesn't say anything, just buries herself further into his embrace.

Finn thinks it's going to be a long night.

As Rachel falls sleep, her sobs turning into sniffles, Finn rubs his hands across her back, and thinks. There _has_ to be something wrong with this picture. Finn has never been the best at math, and with numbers, but something doesn't add up. He sits, and he plots.

(If one can call it plotting.)


	21. Some You Give Away

After a week in the hospital, seven long days of driving everyone on the floor stir crazy through her harassment of the nurses, Rachel's ready to go home that Friday night. Her dads aren't able to drive her home, so Finn is stuck with the delightful task. He's not particularly looking forward to this, even more so since she's spent the better part of their break-up week crying over Puck. Finn's not too sure how much more he could take, and if she had _anyone _else to drive her, he would make up weak excuses and avoid the whole thing altogether. The drive home is silent between them, the only sound evident is his fingers strumming across the steering wheel. Pulling into the driveway, he knows he's doing the right thing, but he still has to convince himself of it.

Linking his arms with hers, he walks her up the stairs to her room, and helps her lay down, positioning her onto her back to avoid putting emphasis on her ribs. He watches as her head hits the pillow, her brown hair a tangle of curls across her pillow, her head absorbing a shape into the pillow. He sits there, his fingers clasped tightly to avoid touching her hair, to avoid touching her at all.

Looking at the tension in his hands, Rachel assesses the situation, and comes to understand the next words out of his mouth will be nothing less than negative, and nothing she wants to hear at the moment.

"You were in a car accident." He stares at his hands, he can't make eye contact with her yet.

She rolls her eyes, avoiding eye contact with him just as easily. "I know, Finn. You don't have to tell me. I was there. I have bruises from it, in case you can't see."

"No, don't talk. You need to listen to me. Like really listen."

Surprised at the harshness of his tone, she closes her mouth instead of uttering another word. He pauses, catching his breath.

"You were in a car accident, and you could have _died_. You could have _died_, and your life would have been a _waste_. You spend so much time being sad, you keep forgetting how to live. You keep forgetting there are bigger things than this, bigger things than your pain. Yeah, I know it hurts, and I know it hurts you _a lot_, but I'm tired of you using your pain to justify _everything _you're fucking up in your life."

The words continue to come easily, as if he didn't have to think about what he was saying at all.

"You're Rachel Caroline _Berry_. You once had confidence that made everyone jealous of you, and naturally, you don't have cowardice running through your veins. You're born to be a star, you're born to shine. You're not born to settle, to settle for this relationship that's become second best in your life. This is your chance to overcome things, to use this pain to become better. You can't hide behind your sadness forever, you know. Sooner or later, you're going to have to push through it, and fall in love with the real world again. You're not a damsel in distress, Rachel. You're better than that."

Walking over to the closet, he picks up the box of letters, and gently drops it on her bed. He sits down next to the box, grabbing her hand, tucking it in with his. He was always so surprised how someone so _tiny_ could fit against him so well.

"You can't move forward until you look back. You _have _to do this, Rachel. You _have_ to face these letters, everything he's left for you is right here, and you've been _ignoring it _because you're scared. You can't be scared anymore. You have to swim against the tide."

She sighs, pressing her lips tight, and she arches an eyebrow, staring back at Finn. It couldn't have been under her influence. Her heart lurches when he's finished, if she didn't know any better she would say it's fallen to her stomach floor. When did he get so thoughtful, so well versed? She hears the words he says, the way they carry from deep inside him to nestle into spots across her skin. She wants to explain to him, she wants to explain to him time and time again. She hears him well, but the problem lately has never been her hearing; it's been her inability to believe. She's fallen into a state of quiet isolation, and now it's become difficult for her to move out into the sunlight.

"You're going to spend the night and tomorrow in bed, and you're going to read these, and I'm going to tell Puck to stop by on Sunday and the two of you can work this out."

Her eyes turn frantic, flickering over his face, and he can feel her body fidget next to him. "But I told _you_ what happened. I told _you_ he went on a date with someone else. I don't understand what you're trying to do here, Finn. Are you trying to cut the wounds in a little deeper?"

Finn shrugs, refusing to show his offense at her remark. As _if_ he would or could ever purposely hurt her. "I thought it about it a lot this week, how easily he let you go when he spent a summer fighting for you from somewhere else, and it didn't add up to me, and I've thought about it _a lot, _and I've only learned one thing. He is _in_ love with _you_, it's _you_ he wants to be with, and judging from those letters, you may be one of those lucky enough to find _forever_ at sixteen. He's just stupid because he's seen how badly he's hurt you before, and now he thinks this is his way of fixing things with you. He's letting you go so you could find someone to be happy, it's very altruistic of him. "

She smirks, the quirk of her lips he's come to love, and she ignores everything he's just said but the loaded word in his sentence. She's only sixteen, she can't let herself wish for forever so young, not when she can be disappointed just as quickly.

"I'm glad I could teach you a thing or two about vocabulary, Hudson."

He kisses her on the forehead, and smiles. _Altruism_. Unselfish, benefiting others. He's doing for her what he should have done before, what he should have done from the beginning.

"What about us?" Her voice rattles him from his thoughts.

"We broke up, remember?"

She sighs, a weary sigh that even he can feel. "I know we did, but where does it leave us?"

"We're going to be friends. _Friends_. And if things don't work out with Puck, or things don't work out with whoever you date afterwards, maybe we'll find our way back to each other. We'll find our way back together for the right reasons, if it's meant to be but right now, right now you need to become the person you were born to be, regardless of who's at your side."

He pauses, watching the emotions flutter through her eyes.

"You're going to be okay, Berry. You'll see." He doesn't call her by her first name, he uses her last name to make it less personal, more cold but he can't help it, still feeling the emotions he's carried over the past several months. He leans in to hug her, his fingers tangled in her hair, burying his lips into her shoulder, murmuring _I love you_ softly enough for her not to hear, but softly enough to leave an imprint. He takes a breath before he leans out, he can't look at her without her noticing how undone he's become.

He gets up to go, before it becomes any harder than it already is, and he turns to look at her when he's by her door. She looks at him, her head tilted to the side and smiles, like ones she gave him long ago, and she gives him an air five, which he returns. Walking out, he texts Puck to let him know he's coming over, part two of his plan.

Snuggling under the covers after Finn leaves, Rachel thinks she'll do what he wants, she'll read the letters after a short nap, and promptly falls asleep, curled up next to the box by her side.

Arriving at Puck's door, Finn waits patiently for him to open the door, and when he does, he throws another punch at him., the hit landing directly on his upper cheekbone.

"What the _fuck_, man? Did you come over here to hit me some more? My face can't take any more bruises."

Finn pushes his way into the house, ignoring Puck's stream of expletives.

"You're an _ass_. I had to listen to her cry for seven _fucking_ days because of you and your lying, that lame ass date you invented."

Puck's eyes narrow. "You're her boyfriend, it's your job to listen to her bitch. That's what boyfriends are _fucking _for."

"We broke up. It's over." Finn says quietly, the words meaningful to them both.

Puck opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish several times.

"What for? You got the girl, man. I don't know why you had to throw it away."

"I'm doing the right thing. She doesn't want to be with me, she's always had a soft spot for you. If you can man up, stop being such a _fucking_ pussy, maybe you'll admit you want to be with her too."

"Watch your tone, Hudson. I'm _fucking _awesome. The Crazy ship has sailed, my friend. It has _sailed_, and it's not coming back anytime soon, if _ever_."

Finn follows Puck as he walks to the freezer, as he grabs a bag of peas to stuff on his face.

"I don't believe that shit for a _second_, and I know you don't, either."

"I don't care what the _fuck_ you believe, Hudson."

Finn stands there, digging his shoe into Puck's floor, his hands in his pockets. He looks at Puck, _really_ looks at him.

"I told her that you're going to be by on Sunday, and the two of you are going to work this out, one and for _all_."

"Sunday's pretty bad for me. I have to practice my nunchucks skills. I've been slipping."

Finn shakes his head. "I don't give a shit. You're going to cancel it, you're going to show up at her house. It would look better if you can bring flowers, maybe some chocolates. If you don't show up, I'm going to find you and I'm going to pummel your face in again."

"Leave my face alone. Studs do _not_ have black and blues all over the place. You're damaging my reputation. Not that I've told anyone how I got them. They assume I did something bad ass again, and the chicks fall at my feet. Maybe you should punch me again."

"I'm not punching you again, not until I have to. My fist gets sore from your concrete face. You're going to show up on Sunday, and you're going to fix this."

"What about you and her?"

"We're going to be friends."

Puck laughs sarcastically. "Friends? Really now?" _Unbelievable_. It's almost as if he's stepped into the Twilight Zone. In what alternate universe has Finn _ever _wanted to be _just_ friends with Rachel?

"We're going to be friends, while you two do whatever it is you two are going to do, and if you end up together, I'll suck it up and be happy for you both but I can't be with her while she wants to be with you. If you two fuck it up, then maybe we'll see. If we're meant to be together, we will be."

Finn can't imagine a scenario where he gets the girl, but it's all relative at this point. He's been lying to himself for so long about her feelings for Puck, that the truth feels like a welcome change.

They stand in silence, relief hovering slightly above them. There's nothing else to be said, Finn has done his part. As Finn puts on his jacket, he turns to Puck and sticks out his hand.

"What's this?" Puck looks on.

"A peace treaty, I'm sorry."

"For what? You're going to have to be more specific."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say those things I did last week. Some were uncalled for."

Puck doesn't take his hand. "A lot, a _lot_ were uncalled for. If you're going to apologize, don't do it half assed."

"I feel like shit I hurt you, and I didn't mean to. You're my best friend, you've filled that role for all our lives. Can we be cool again?"

Puck walks over to the door, and takes a deep breath before speaking.

"My dad died this summer, you know. Well, let me correct myself. You don't know. You weren't around this summer. Things change, people change, I've changed. I appreciate you trying to fix things with me and Rachel, but it's not going to make up for you not being around this summer, for _fucking_ ditching me, and for saying that shit the other day."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your dad."

Puck nods uncomfortably, he doesn't want to take the conversation in this direction with anyone, least of all, Finn.

"Thanks."

Finn stands there awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

After enough time has elapsed, he speaks, the words quiet and resigned.

"I guess I'll see you around."

He walks out into the night, Puck left behind.

AN: I always get particularly sad when I notice I have over 200 alerts on this story and only ten of you review (Those particular ten are awesome, by the way) and then I fall into a funk and then, I'm in no particular rush to update.


	22. Places You Have Come to Fear the Most

AN: Thank you for all the positive reviews. You guys are SO nice and SO awesome. Really.

The days are Puck, the parentheses are Rachel.

I cut back on the angst on this chapter, if only because there's too much in the next two chapters.

Waking up several hours later, Rachel rubs her bleary eyes, trying to adjust the light of her room. It's a welcome change to be home, she's grown weary of being surrounded by machines and incompetent nurses. Her only visitor was Finn, and even then, she recognizes how forced those visits grew to be. Stretching out her arms, her elbow hits the side of the box, and her mind is flooded with memories of Finn's visits earlier. Gingerly, she turns over onto her side, there's less wincing than before, and she stares at the box prior to sighing, and opening it, picking up where she left off.

_Day_ 47

We are not talking about yesterday.

_Ever_.

(We will, though. It may have gone undiscussed the day I showed up at your house, the day of my birthday. We may have avoided it when you visited me in the hospital but you can mark my words, we will talk about it. There may never be a best time for conversations such as these but these aren't the types of things you can sweep under the rug easily. I know you're hurting, and despite the widening silence between us, I can't idly sit by, watching your wounds fester.)

_Day_ 48

Sometimes, I feel so alone and misunderstood, and then I realize I've been talking to Cat again.

I'm not embarrassed by these conversations.

Often, it's the fact that I find myself standing there, expecting a reply.

Case in point.

Me: "You've been eating my pizza again, haven't you?"

Cat: "I'm not _not_ eating your pizza again."

Me: "You're not supposed to talk."

Cat: "I'm not _not_ supposed to talk."

(I like that you love Cat. I die of laughter every time I imagine you talking to her.)

_Day_ 49

I'm sleeping with someone.

She is lovely, and wonderful, and her head fits against my pillow but she isn't the one.

Not that I believe in the one but I believe in you. I believe it's just you now.

She deserves someone too, someone less lonely someone more willing.

But she doesn't find that someone.

Sometimes, I find myself kissing her, breathing into her mouth, as though she has come to mean everything to me.

But I know she can feel it's a lie, most girls taste the distance.

She doesn't question why my eyes glisten with thoughts of someone else.

What does Finn do for you?

Knowing Finn, I doubt he questions you when he sees someone else in your eyes.

That is, if you ever think of someone else.

(True fact: I spent the _whole_ summer thinking of you while I was with Finn. This makes me a horrible person, doesn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if it did.)

_Day_ 50

Learned lots of tricks this summer.

How to sleep with my eyes open.

Nunchucks.

How to tie a cherry stem into a knot in a minute.

Thirty seconds if that's the only thing I'm trying to do with my tongue.

(What else could you be doing with your tongue? Isn't it hard enough to tie the stem? Never mind, I don't want to know.)

_Day_ 51

I can't understand the amount of clothes inside my hamper.

I don't leave my room, much less leave the house.

But come laundry day, I may as well have a hamper full of ninjas the way I get attacked by pants.

(You need to get out of the house.)

_Day_ 52

For years, years, I've struggled to put a roof over her head.

I've fed her, put food on the table.

Bathed her, given her half my side of the bed.

Not _once_ have I gotten a thank you.

Ungrateful Cat.

(Some people just express gratitude in different ways. I don't think you should take it personally. She snuggles with you, doesn't she?)

_Day_ 53

Ripping off the Band-Aid is less painful.

I could rip it off, and the pain would be sharp, but it would leave quickly.

But I prefer to remove it slowly with a solid face to prove how bad ass I am.

(If I know you, which I once did, you probably sat there for close to four hours with the Band-Aid)

_Day_ 54

I just ate half of the most perfect chocolate chip cookie ever and I have no idea what to do with the rest of it.

I would give it to you.

You're not talking to me.

(I hate chocolate chip cookies)

_Day_ 55

I went to Geometry once last semester.

It was the perfect day.

I learned how to cut pizza into equal slices.

I never went back.

(How many times do I have to tell you? You need to start caring about your education. You can't stay in Lima forever_)_

_Day_ 56

When life gives you lemons, squeeze them into the eyes of your enemies, laugh and run away.

True story.

(That is _horrible_. When life hands you lemons, you're supposed to write a strongly worded letter, not squirt them into the eyes of your foes. Honestly.)

_Day_ 57

Aliens are coming to Earth on Monday.

They are coming for the good looking and sexy people.

You're safe but I just wanted to say good-bye.

Obviously, they would come for me.

I'm a _stud_. You've seen my guns, haven't you?

Impressive.

(Eye roll. Aliens are not going to come for you, Puck. No matter how good looking you believe yourself to be.)

_Day_ 58

One day, I will look back on this time period in my life.

Then, I will develop a drinking problem or begin abusing prescription drugs.

I am also thinking about the future. When the future comes, I will be grateful for my crystal meth addiction.

So I can write a book.

(Drug addiction is no laughing matter, Puck. This is serious. Perhaps you should speak to a counselor?)

_Day _59

School starts in fifteen days.

Maybe we'll even be friends.

(I don't think we're ever going to be friends)


	23. I Forgot to Remember to Forget

_Day _60

There are moments, _always_, where you wish you could take things back.

Some you can spot for miles, some you can never see coming.

Not until you're attempting to survive through the wreckage.

I have spent the summer floating across the people I have lost.

My father.

Finn, this friendship.

You.

_Day_ 61

This is what I wish I had the courage to say to you.

What I wish I could have said to you when we still had a bridge to walk together on.

Before the gulf of silence thickened between us, freezing a pond we could come to skate on.

I made a mistake.

But I didn't say this to you.

I assumed what we had would be reparable enough that I wouldn't have to say anything.

Maybe not quickly, but eventually. Eventually, it would be fixable.

(The intimate bonds that interwoven us, I assumed they would always stay)

And we could go back.

I was wrong.

The only bond we were left to share was a linkage of bitterness.

_Day _62

Berry, I miss you.

The spirals of the hurricane you often resemble, your hair cascading down your shoulders.

You smell wistfully of juices and magnolias.

Wistfully of forgiveness and redemption.

Falling asleep, the melodies you sung into my ear, the inhale and the exhale of soft breaths, the smile trailing across your lips.

I have counted the vertebrates across your spine, sixteen and a half.

_Day _63

The memories between us are enough to satisfy the cliches everyone discusses.

There was the night we spun across a gazebo, barefoot because you wanted to experience the real thing.

Memories, good and bad, will never become equal.

It will always tilt closer to the side I never wanted, that I never imagined for us.

_Day _64

There's only one fact that I hold onto.

I think you can love someone a lot.

More than you have ever imagined.

A never ending stream of love that continues to flow.

They say you fall in love once, and it bends you for forever.

But what if this wasn't love? What would this be?

_Day_ 65

You have moments with Finn.

Because he loves you.

_Day_ 66

I didn't fight for you.

But you didn't fight for me, either.

We're even now.

_Day_ 67

There is a gnawing ache, an ache that has weaved its way around my bones.

I have told you this before but I will say this again.

You are a phantom limb, a haunting ghost tied to a sharp pain.

_Day_ 68

I spent the summer reading the dictionary, my hands turning the pages, memorizing words I would never use in everyday conversation.

It's not going to be enough.

_Day_ 69

The first night, I threw rocks outside your window.

The first night you curled up in that armchair, drowning in an over sized sweatshirt.

The first day I skipped Glee to hold your hair back while you recovered from the stomach flu.

The last night I held your hair back to kiss you good-bye.

The taste of regret still twinges my lips.

_Day _70

I still feel the same.

(But there are stitches across my heart)

The angriest scars can cause permanent damage.

(your fingertips have left the writing on my skin)

_Day_ 71

You have a tilted smile.

Your right is always higher than your left.

_Day_ 72

As the summer fades out, these letters will too.

(These feelings will have to find a new home)

Swallowing my pride, perhaps it's time to leave this in the past.

_Day_ 73

I've realized now what this has been about.

This has been forgiveness, forgiveness in the strongest sense of the word.

It has become less about the night that I left you and more about other things.

Like the times when I slushied you (before)

Like the times when I didn't defend you when everyone made fun of you (before _and_ after)

I would ask for a do-over.

But the problem with do-overs is that you never know where to start.

_Day_ 74

I have written you 73 letters before this one.

73 letters and I thought I would know by now what you would want.

These are not the notes you want, I know that now.

You want love letters, and declarations, and apologies.

I should have written you letters that were wonderful, and hopeful of change.

I've never been big on happy endings, and fairy tale romances.

Loves that can last forever if nurtured.

They're illusions, illusions that exist to cover the ugliness of love underneath.

These past few months have been a blur, the days seamlessly blending into one another.

Time quickening by.

But today, today is the beginning of the new school year, and I'm wracked with nervousness.

Where do we go from here?

AN: For those of you who have read this story from the beginning, I sincerely thank you so much. (Even more so to who have kept with all of my stories.) You have all been wonderful with your reviews, and your kind alerts, and favorites. They have meant quite a lot to me. I hope it meets your expectations, and that you let me know anytime it doesn't. With that being said, I know quite a few of you have questioned the characterization of the characters, hence why I added on the slightly OOC tag onto the summary.


	24. Bracing Myself for the Impact

AN: I listened to 'Happy Ending' by Mika on repeat while reading this. (My many thanks to Astaralis and KittyGoddess415 for reading this, and loving it)

_this is the way you left me_

_i'm not pretending_

_no hope, no love, no glory_

_no happy ending._

She doesn't say anything after she finishes the last letter, her heart rendered speechless. She gently folds the paper, careful not to bend the creases and puts it back into the box, setting it onto the floor, and falling asleep. Her dreams are empty, devoid of color and emotions; she doesn't remember dreaming of anything.

The most surprising part of all is that Puck _actually_ shows. Thoughts of him not visiting did cross her mind repeatedly while she read his letters, but now he's here on her doorstep, and she has to let him in. She moves out of his way to allow him to enter her home, and she finds herself awkwardly standing, staring behind him to meet his gaze.

Puck wasn't going to come. He had thought about it. He had thought about everything, the summer apart, the birthday, her accident. Standing there, a wave of nostalgia envelops him, and he realizes the full extent of the mistake he's about to make. The heaviness of the situation is finally hitting him. He shouldn't have come because he's not ready for this; he's not ready for everything a moment of this scope entails.

Later, if one was to ask him how he got himself into this situation, he wouldn't be able to answer that person, much less answer himself.

She's standing there in front of him, the sunlight streaming through her living room window, ricocheting through stray strands; his should have been the first indication that things will not end fittingly. It's winter in Ohio, winter is meant for drops of rain and snowy mornings, the cold breeze curling like a fist. She feels the yellow hues glinting across the window panes, and she wonders what the weather has aligned for her, what the clouds have overlapped for her to possess.

His presence in her home is unsettling. There's a lingering air of dramatic silence, the kind that can break either way. She doesn't know where to start with her sentences, whether to begin with nouns or adjectives. He solves the problem for her, he goes to sit on the couch, laying his feet as though he's never left.

Puck can't look at her without wanting to hold his breath.

She walks over and lays next to him, the curve of her frame molding into his.

_wake up in the morning, stumble on my life_

_can't get no love without sacrifice_

"Do you remember the carnations?" He asks several minutes later, kindly, slightly weary. He feels her tiny hand in his, and he feels the beginning roots of self doubt sprout inside him.

(He feels it easily, the roots multiplying in degrees)

"I've never forgotten." Her thoughts carry him back to the beginning, the second week when their friendship began to develop, when everything felt brand new. She came home from school, dropping her bag on the floor when her gaze noticed the assortment of the yellow carnations, the stripes ones leaved together with ones of pink, the hypocrisy between the three intertwined.

His thumbs circle the creases of the palm, and she knows before he does how easily it is to say good-bye.

He kisses her at that moment, and she closes her eyes, and her defenses down, she kisses him back with enough feeling to overlook the crumbling foundation of her heart; first in halves followed into quarters.

(This isn't how things are supposed to be; her heart should feel as though it's mending, not disintegrating underneath his touch)

His teeth softly tug at her lower lip, gently enough to not hurt and hard enough for her to begin to feel. His mouth finds its way to the soft spot on her neck, the one responsible for the giggles. She moves her hands down the slope of his spine, repetitive circular motions that move randomly.

(He feels the throb of sorrow when her hands meet his)

He kisses her, and she feels foreign; a burning feeling making its way into his stomach, the burn accompanied by the sink. The strands of her hair fall through his fingers, falling across her face every time he tries to brush them back.

She tugs his shirt upward, and his hands stray underneath her shirt, the finger tips moving one by one.

He traces the lines of graces around her edges, and he can't help but believe she feels less seamlessly than before. He wants to ask her when she lost the weight, ask how she lost the softness she's had before. He wonders when she became brittle.

"The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout." He softly hums in her ear as his finger tips walk up skin, a childhood nursery rhyme when things were level, and her greatest worries were of cookies and milk.

He thinks if he hears her sing, he could be brought back, brought back and fixed.

"Down came the rain, and washed the spider out." She continues where he leaves off, his mouth preoccupied with other matters. He kisses her collarbone and she can feel him laugh against the bone, the laugh nestling to find a home underneath the skin. His teeth scrape across the skin, leaving a pattern of marks, the calling card he leaves her with in the morning.

It is when his nose bumps against hers, and his mouth stops meeting hers, when she realizes he's pulled away. Puck feels it inside, he can't have sex with her, not like this when he's unsure of everything she represents. Not when having sex means further complications in their twisted relationship.

"You taste different."

She raises an eyebrow, gazing at him intently. "It's been a while."

He drops his hands, horrified by this newfound realization.

Memory erodes as quickly as the extinguishing flames but he knows he's never forgotten how she tastes.

And _s__he_ tastes _different_.

"You used to taste like pineapples." _And him_, he thinks. She used to taste like him.

(The first time he kissed her, they were bickering about driving lessons; and she tasted like pineapples. The last time he kissed her, she tasted less like pineapples, and more like him)

"I don't eat them as frequently as I used to." She looks at him, trying to read the expression underneath his veiled eyes, an expression she can't distinguish.

"You're not the same."

(Of _course_ she's not the same, but neither is he)

She stares at him, the dawn of awareness in her eyes as the stock of his words envelops her, covering her like gentle snowflakes.

"It's over, isn't it?" He looks at her, the weight of her words collapsing on him, the echo of the past settling softly between them. There's a potency to these words that she doesn't want to grasp. A chilled feeling, bricks of coldness begin to build.

"I kiss you and I don't feel _anything_." He waits for her to climb off him, but she doesn't twitch; she doesn't move a muscle. He's surprised by the honesty that uncurls with his words, he really _does_ miss the taste of pineapples, and the taste of the old her. His hands across her skin evoke splinters on his finger tips, and he finds himself surprised he's not bleeding.

_if anything should happen, i guess i wish you well_

_a little bit of heaven, a little bit of hell_

_this is the hardest story i've ever told_

_happy endings gone forever more_

"What does that even mean? Why did you give me those letters? Why did you write those things? I thought you wanted to be together again, I thought that's why you're here; why you came."

"I wrote them because I meant them at the time, and I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know, and now you know, and now that you know, I realize I can't do this. I can't do this as easily as I thought I would be able to. We're not going to be happy together." His chest feels hollow, and an uncertain air is building inside him; by the time he questions his usage of words, they've escaped and it's too late.

"We were happy _once_."

"We weren't meant for forever."

"This isn't even about forever. We're seventeen, forevers _always_ changing. I'm going to change, you're going to change. We're never going to stay the same people we are now. I can't understand you, what your rationale is for these current actions. You're turning your back on something that you tried so hard to keep."

"I spent so much time living in the past that I've forgotten what it feels like to live in the future. I spent so much time living in the past, loving you the way I did then that I never realized that I don't know anything about you _now_."

She finds herself wishing he could stop using long sentences, and eloquence; she wants him to curse at her, to show a semblance of feeling. She doesn't know what he's trying to prove.

(He's not trying to prove anything; that's the most surprising part of all)

"And what? Your future couldn't include me? Is that what you're getting at?"

This was a mistake, he thinks frantically. He never should have came, he's not _ready _to confront these issues, this past. He swallows the lump inside his throat, and presses on.

"I'm not that guy who thinks in futures and plans. I don't plan things."

(Puck is saying these things to further untangle himself from the situation)

The air crackles with their thoughts, and suddenly, she's overcome with an urge to hurt him as badly as he's began to hurt her _again_. His words fall across her skin, tiny shards of glass cutting her across. She can feel the quarters of her heart further disintegrating, as she begins to comprehend what he's _really_ saying.

(And she begins grasping at straws)

"What type of guy then? Which guy are you? The one that fucks the cheer leaders, and those moms? Who acts like an ass to me? The one who writes letter with a foundation of promise, and hope? Which _fucking _guy are _you_? Why can't you be like _Finn_?"

He's surprised to feel the bite of her words, the viciousness of her tone; the mention of his best friend heavy in the air.

(It's not about _Finn_.)

He's surprised by how fast he finds himself on top of her, gripping her wrists, and how easily she lays underneath him on the couch.

He kisses the bones of her shoulders, the points that Finn reached first, her hands still locked with his.

He bends his forehead onto hers and wills his breath to steady before he speaks.

"I'm not Finn."

Her eyes are soft as she stares into mine, soft and bitter as the disappointment crystalizes.

"I know."

"I like fucking around, and I like being alone. I don't do relationships and fighting for girls, not anymore."

(Not after he spent a summer draining himself for her, and retreating into his shell)

"You also don't do letters but you did that, you did that for me." She says pointedly, the heat of her glare creeping up his neck.

"This summer, those letters. They weren't me. I don't _do_ letters. This is the real world, Berry. Shit like that doesn't exist with me anymore."

"But you _did_. You wrote them, and they were beautiful, and I loved them, and I held them close each time, I felt it was the only thing I had left of you. These letters, these letters you wrote to me built like a house of cards, cards that are now crumbling back to the ground."

Rachel wants to stay in denial comfortably; she doesn't want to believe that after this, after _all_ this, it could be over.

(Even if she knows it is)

He sighs, and rubs his hand through his hair, surprised by the shakes that quiver through his hands.

"This isn't the _Notebook_, Berry. I can't write you a happy ending, a fairy tale."

"I'm not asking for a fairy tale."

"Yes, you are. Deep down inside, you are. You're not the girl to settle. If you were, you would be with Finn."

"Is that what this is about? Finn? You're just pissed because I've been sleeping with Finn."

He shakes his head, trying to contain his bile at the thought. "No. It's not. It's about the fact that I have nothing else to give you, no more declarations of love, no more bleeding letters. I'm drained, and I'm empty, and I can't love you like this anymore."

It's not about Finn; it's about hurting and she's broken, and he doesn't want to be broken together. Sadness plus sadness equals twice _as_ much sadness.

"You don't _just_ wake up one morning, and decide that you're not going to love someone _anymore_."

He looks at her, raising his head, lying through his teeth. "Why not? I've done it."

(It's easy enough to lie, it's easy enough to believe he wants to stay unattached)

"You can't mean that. You can't mean that."

"I don't want a relationship built for three."

She recoils as though his hand has crossed her face. "Finn isn't part of our relationship."

"I'm not talking about Finn. I'm talking about us. I'm looking at you right now, and I'm tired, and I'm _fucking_ exhausted. There's no strength inside me to fight for us anymore. I love you but I can't deal with you right now. I left you everything I had this summer."

He feels his stomach churn at the crippling look that takes hold inside her eyes. His chest is collapsing into himself, the darkness snaking across his ribs like a snake.

"We could be friends. I miss you knowing me, I miss these feelings fiercely. There's a medium here, a happy medium that we could find and we could make this work."

"We _can't_ be friends. We're not the type of people to be _fucking_ friends. We're both _fucked_ up right now, you're a mess and I'm not much better."

(Being friends would make things worse, not better)

"You came to see me in the hospital, you came to see if I was alright."

He shakes his shoulders. "I came because I needed to know that you were okay but then I sat there, and you didn't understand what you were saying; you didn't understand how we could pick up easily where we left off so I had to leave. You didn't understand, and I can't explain anymore."

She _still_ doesn't understand, he thinks. He feels like a hypocrite, leaving her but wanting her to say those three words first.

"Didn't understand what? I was on drugs, I can't even remember most of your visit. What about the other night? The night of my birthday?"

"I thought I was ready for this. I thought I was ready, and looking at you, I'm overwhelmed by how _not_ ready I really am."

It's a bit surreal when he tells her this, he too is surprised by this realization. He can have her now, he _can_ but he's choosing to let her go. After all he's done to fight for her, these letters, these feelings, he _chooses_ to let her go.

(Maybe this is his version of an easy way out)

He pushes the thought from his mind, pushing it further into the hollows.

Her mind catches thoughts of the first time around, the first time he did this because he wanted to convince them both it meant nothing.

"This is the second time you're not ready. The _second _time. When are you ever going to be ready? Are you ever going to be ready?"

He doesn't know how to answer, he doesn't know if there's a passing phrase he could use.

"I'm not ready either, you know. I'm really not. I'm messed up lately, and the boy who was my anchor just broke up with me so another boy could take me back out to sea; but I'm here. I could try."

He doesn't say anything, waiting for her to speak first.

She realizes that silence is a four letter word, a combination of their names.

"So, that's it?"

(That's _it_)

Her voice cracks, like the way fault lines break apart in the middle of the earth.

"That's all that's left here."

She wonders where her tear ducts went at a time like this, why she isn't crying as she's supposed to be. She lays her head on his chest, her thumbs drifting on the corner of his hip bones.

Her voice is subdued when she speaks, tinted with acquiescence.

"You walk out that door, and we will have no more chances."

"Okay." The word is spoken quietly, carried on a heavy train. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw, and he feels the silent piercing of her eyes. He knows he loves her; the messiness of the situation is proof of that. That he could love her as much as he does when he's breaking apart.

Her heart lodges in her throat; the sound hitting her as nails on a chalkboard would, the finality of this has left no room to move back.

(Her blood runs cold)

Her lips find the outer edge of his ear lobe, her breath warm as she breathes.

"There won't be an us anymore."

He doesn't fight with her, he doesn't make moves to disagree. He kisses her on the forehead, and covers her in a parentheses, a wrap of his arms. The feathery touch sends a shudder through her nervous system, snaking across her rib cage, and she knows he's at least meant this. His arms around her tighten, and the crown of her head is nestled underneath his chin, her forehead burrowed into his shirt, and they sit like that for a while; hours perhaps.

He doesn't say anything after these movements, and he walks out the door without the second glance.

Puck walks away, frightened by the prospect of what they could be if he stayed; they both are but him more than her.

(He wonders when he stopped feeling good enough)

The faintness of her smile is the last thing he allows himself see.

She closes the door after he's gone, catching a glimpse in the hallway mirror of the vivid abrasions trailing off her neck. In the morning, her fingers will trail to the bruising, and she doesn't cry a tear, she stifles the tears and hides the burst blood vessels behind a multi colored scarf.

_this is the way you left me,_

_i'm not pretending._

_no hope, no love, no glory,_

_no happy ending._

She finds herself sitting on the floor, her frame blockading the front door, and staring at her nails. She picks and picks at the cuticle, tearing at the skin to expose a teardrop of blood; bright and angry, the violent red. Her breaths tumble out like cartwheels at the sight of the darkening color, and she feels the quickness of short gasps escape past her lips; the way a swimmer would after reaching the first grasp of air after being held underwater.

In the back of her mind, a nagging feeling whispers on her edges.

(They were supposed to have an _ending. _There has to be an end. _Somewhere_.)

She sits and wonders why the end feels strangely like the beginning.

_this is the way that we love_

_like it's forever_

_then live the rest of our life_

_but not together._

AN: I know, I know. It's not exactly what many of you have advocated in your reviews but to be fair, I never promised a happy ending. So, I hope you all liked it. I do. (Though if you're disappointed, I'd like to know) Does it get better after this? I would like to think so. (Also -- for those of you worried, the story does not end for several more chapters.)

AN #2: I also allow anonymous reviews. (Please be nice!)


	25. Six Letter Word for Liar

You can become anyone in therapy; the story you create is one you could fit as well as a glove.

(Provided you can remember the lies you weave)

That's where Rachel finds herself on the first Monday of Christmas break; her hands clutching the arm rests to settle the nerves inside her lungs, her eyes staring ahead at the plants inside the room.

"Rachel Berry?"

She looks up startled, dropping her hands from their position.

"The therapist will see you now."

She stands up, and walks through the door, walking to the left, turning right, making another left; a complicated maze designed for her to find her way home.

Placing a hand on the door knob, she inhales sharply and walks in, sitting down on the chair across from her confidante, the new therapist.

"Hi, Rachel. I'm Jack." Sticking out his hand, Jack shakes hers, a cautious handshake sealing the deal of their future together.

"Hi." She crosses and uncrosses her legs nervously, picking at the stitching on her jeans.

"You can relax, you know. I don't bite."

She nods, her lips drawn in a tight line. She's still unsure of _this_, of staying. She only agreed to this to appease her fathers, her fathers full of worry after Miss Pillsbury called them on Sunday night and informed them their daughter is behaving unlike herself.

"Do you want to start with the basics? I could ask you questions, you could answer, and we could build from there."

She nods again, pieces of her fearful of the words that will escape from the back of her throat.

"How old are you?"

"I turned seventeen a little over a week ago."

"Good birthday?"

She glances down at her hands, clenched together, a thumb tracing her knuckles, and tells her first lie.

"It was _wonderful_. My boyfriend threw me a birthday party with all of our closest friends."

She says it quietly but with enough conviction to convince herself it was true; this happened and the party was magical.

Jack nods, almost as if in perfect understanding.

"Boyfriend?"

She inhales softly, biting the inside corner of her cheek.

"Yes. His name is Finn, he's a lovely person."

Jack arches an eyebrow, but makes no comment regarding a seventeen year old girl describing her boyfriend as _lovely_.

"How long have you been together?"

She gives a soft shrug of her shoulders. "Since January."

She doesn't tell him they've broken up twice in that span; the latest of which was done in a hospital bed.

"Almost a year then."

She nods. "Affirmative."

"How's your relationship?"

"We're good. Pretty good, actually. We don't fight, we don't argue. We're perfectly in sync. I spoke to him on my drive here."

She doesn't know why she adds the last part, but she figures if she's bending the truth, she may as well do a better job. She hasn't spoken to Finn since he drove her home from the hospital, his hands tucking her beneath her covers. She hasn't called, he hasn't texted.

"And your friendships?"

She thinks to those in Glee, to people around school, the whispers that follow her like a shadow, how ostracized she really is.

She grins, a smile that doesn't meet the whites of her eyes, or the corners of her mouth.

"Never been stronger. There's no petty high school drama, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone gets along."

"So, you're happy." He says _happy_ as if a matter of fact, not subjective to a different opinion.

She tucks a hair behind her hair, and forces herself to smile back.

"I'm privy to everything I want. I can't imagine why I wouldn't be happy."

Leaning back in his chair, Jack gazes at Rachel pensively, sticking the pencil behind his ear.

Folding his hands across his chest, she fidgets uncomfortably underneath the stare of his eyes

"Now, let's start from the _real_ truth." He says, his words blowing smoke through her lies.

That's what I was afraid of, she thinks.

AN: Oh, you guys. I didn't mean to make any of you cry! (I hope it's a good cry, at least) I'm sorry! I'm so glad that all of you have responded so positively, and enjoy reading. It means so much.

AN #2: I'm a handful of reviews from 400! That's exciting.


	26. Crash Course in Polite Conversations

AN: I was hoping to have the story done by the early thirties, but I guess that's not going to work. Thank you for all the reviews! It's mind boggling I'm over 400, even more so since this story was intended to be a one shot. All of your comments are sweet, and wonderful, and I love them all so SO much. If you're an anonymous user, I can't respond to your comments but if you want to leave me an e-mail, I'd be happy to e-mail back!

I will be going into a description of Jack in further chapters. For now, I just wanted to set things up.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Rachel says, a steely edge tinting her words. She's going to have a stern discussion with her fathers later regarding therapy. Just because she's sad, and hurt, and sometimes a little _tired_ of it all, is no reason to jump the shark and enroll in therapy. She's going to become a similar version of her old self. Eventually. When she's ready.

Jack plops his elbows on the table separating them, holding his chin in his palms. He stares at her, watching her brown eyes dart across the room, looking anywhere but back at him.

"Really?"

Rachel wonders why her father had to pick a therapist with green eyes, and she forces herself to sit up straight, and to stare back. She wonders if therapists can prey on weaknesses.

"_Really_."

"Normally, people that are satisfied with their lives have no need for therapy."

"I garner a great deal of satisfaction from my everyday routine. It's nice, and it's orderly; it makes me happy."

She doesn't discuss the last time she was _happy_, if only because she's unclear on the timing of when that was.

Jack leans back in his chair again, his hands folding together in front of her on the table.

"Describe it for me, then. Your everyday routine."

Narrowing her eyes, Rachel proceeds to go into the routine of her previous days; the routine she had prior to Puck's disappearance last year.

"I wake up at six am to go on the elliptical, and then I have my power shake."

He tilts his head, motioning for her to continue. He's a bit jealous to be honest; even he can't rise at six in the morning for an exercise routine.

"Finn picks me up promptly at 7:30 and then we drive to school to begin a new day."

"Does he kiss you good morning?"

"What?"

Rachel looks away, startled by the question. All these months of memories, and she can't remember if Finn kissed her good morning.

"Does he kiss you in the morning?" Jack repeats the question slowly, trying to keep the smirk off his face.

"Mind your own business." She snaps back, unable to keep the edge from creeping into her tone.

"I'm your _therapist_. I can't mind my own business."

"Fine. He kisses me good morning when I come into the car. _Then_, we drive to school and I'm there until three, and then I have Glee practice. Once Glee has finished, he drives me home and I do my homework, and I go to bed."

"Sounds exciting."

Jack doesn't say anything about the kiss. Judging from the expression circling underneath her eyes at the mention of Finn, and of the kiss, he would bet a sizable fortune they've recently broken up, and she's carrying on appearances.

"It is. It is _very _exciting, and you know what, I don't appreciate your tone."

"My tone?"

"Yes. Your tone is laced with judgment."

"I don't have tones. I'm very neutral. Much like Switzerland."

"You're _judging_. Isn't that against the rules of therapy?"

Jack shrugs. "There aren't any rules in therapy."

"Isn't there a set of guidelines? Everything has a set of guidelines."

"Nope. I'm here for you to discuss whatever you want."

"What if I wanted to discuss a variety of fine wines?"

"You're underage, and by default, not supposed to be drinking, but yes, if you want to discuss fine wines, we can discuss fine wines."

"Well, I don't want to discuss fine wines."

"So then why are you here?"

"The school guidance counselor called my father. She informed him my behavior is uncharacteristic of what it normally is, and here I am, sitting across a judgmental therapist."

"What's your normal behavior?"

She opens and closes her mouth just as quickly. Her normal behavior is spending the day alone, and falling asleep before she has a chance to finish her homework; not that she would tell Jack this. Nor does she have any intention of confiding in Jack about the messed up state of her love affairs.

"I just told you."

Jack arches an eyebrow.

"What's the cause for concern on her part, then? It sounds like a boringly average day."

Rachel shrugs, and continues to poke at the stitching on her jeans, tearing the seams apart slowly.

He continues to watch her, watching as her hands flutter across her lower body. He wonders if his eyes are imaging her shakes.

"You can only lie to yourself for so long, and sooner or later, you're going to wake up in the morning, and wonder why you began lying to begin with."

"I'm not lying."

Jack puts his hands around the back of his head, and gazes at her thoughtfully.

"If that was the case, then you wouldn't be here; if everything was as fine as you want to imply. I'll see you Thursday. Maybe you'll be more amiable to the truth then."

Rachel gives a quick wave of her hand, not bothering to comment on his words, and walks out his door. Once she's safely turned the corner, she sticks her hands in her pockets, and searches for the exit. She's got to get out of here. Standing outside, she stares at the sun, and wonders where she can go. Shrugging, she decides to visit the mall. The prospect of being surrounded by people does a little to stifle her loneliness.

On the other side of town, Puck continues to throw his basketball towards the ceiling, his thoughts concentrated on how hard he has to throw the ball against the ceiling for it to collapse. He throws and throws, but he never gets it high enough for it to hit, and with a disgusted look, he throws the ball across the room, nearly missing a lamp.

He stares upwards, wondering what to do with his time, what would make the vacation by quicker. Remembering his sister's birthday is around the corner, he grabs his keys, deciding to go to the mall for a birthday gift.


	27. For Something that Won't Drown

Rachel wanders the mall aimlessly, her feet moving in mechanical movements. She goes from floor to floor, across the stores, staring at the faces she would recognize from school. None of them show any acknowledgment that they recognize her back, and she continues to walk around slowly. She walks into the book store, browsing the paperbacks when she spots a familiar haircut, the Mohawk she's come to know so well, and she ducks into an aisle, hoping he doesn't spot her. She casually leans her head out from the aisle, an attempt to sneak a peek if he's still in the vicinity but she doesn't see him anywhere.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder several seconds later, she drops the book she was using as a prop, and jumps.

"Rachel, why are you hiding in the Twilight section?" Finn asks, his eyes masked in confusion. He had come to pick up a gift for his mother, and was walking through the cooking aisle of the book store, and had spotted Rachel ducking into a different aisle.

Rachel stares at him, biting the inside corner of her lip nervously. What is she going to tell him, that she's spying on Puck? That's going to go over _real_ well.

There's a feeling in the pit of her stomach, a ball curling into itself that something is about to go terribly _wrong_.

"I'm not hiding. I'm merely observing these books so I could learn what the hype is all about. Perhaps there's something there that I'm not recognizing."

Finn rolls his eyes at her poor attempt to lie. "You once gave me a two hour lecture on this series. You _hate_ Twilight."

She stuffs the book back onto the shelf, muttering to herself about his listening skills. "Fine, you're right. I hate Twilight. I'm hiding because I'm spying on Puck."

"Why are you spying? Sunday go bad?" He looks genuinely concerned his plan failed, and his face tugs at her heart strings.

"Something like that, yeah. It didn't work out the way either of us planned. He left, and he didn't leave as us as friends, either."

"I'm sorry." Finn reaches out to squeeze her arm gently, a show of support.

"Of _course_." Rachel and Finn look away from each other, his hand dropping from her arm, both startled by Puck's voice. He stands there, his eyes going back and forth between the two, his eyes filling with disgust. Her heart drums across the space of her throat when she realizes what his interpretation of this scene must be.

"Puck, it's not like that. We just bumped into each other right now. The mall is a public space, we're all bound to run into people we know." Rachel's voice takes a pleading turn as she waits for Puck to say something, _anything_. She's unsure of why she needs him to believe her. All she knows is that she _does_.

(The tension between the three is thick, one could attempt to cut it with a knife and it _still_ wouldn't cut cleanly)

"Whatever, Berry. You don't have to explain." Puck says quietly, walking away from the two of them without a second glance.

Rachel shrugs, and shoots a look at Finn, his face matching the worried expression on hers. "I have to go after him. I'll see you in school." She runs off, grabbing Puck's arm to slow his steps.

"It's not what you think it was. I want to explain."

(She holds his arm tightly, she refuses to allow any movements that would enable him to stray)

"I didn't think anything. It doesn't matter, we're not _anything _for it to _matter_." He shrugs off her arm, his eyes still betraying his emotions.

"I came here because I needed to get away, and I saw you in the bookstore, and I ran into the aisle so you wouldn't see me, and then Finn saw me, and Finn asked why I was hiding, and how Sunday went, and that's when you saw us." She's rambling again, she's rambling words that make no difference to him.

He gives her a slow look, a look that she can feel burn across her skin before he walks away, not turning back. She watches him go, and even though he's halfway out the door, she can still feel the lingering of his eyes on hers.

(She feels a compulsion to run after him, to beg him to stay)

"_Fucking_ Finn." Rachel thinks, sighing heavily, and making her way to exit the mall.

She comes home, and falls face down onto her pillows, still agitated from the scene at the mall. She's counting sheep to lower the speed of her heart beats when she hears her blackberry vibrating, opening it to find a text from Puck.

(917): Whatever. You say nothing happened, then nothing happened.

Rachel exhales. He _believes_ her.

(646): Nothing happened.

She sends him back an instant reply, and hopes it's enough to further squelch any doubts he possessed about running into her with Finn.

She falls asleep holding the phone, waiting for a reply.

AN: Thank you for the reviews, you guys! I love reading them. I think I'm going to take a break from this story for a little while, I have five stories up and I would hate for every story to suffer because I don't pay enough attention to it. Plus, I start school Thursday so there's that, too.


	28. impossible to reconcile heart with head

AN: So this chapter is a bit sluttier than my other chapters. Be nice!

Puck ignores Rachel's text, deleting it from his history. He believes her, yes, but there's no point in encouraging the conversation further. He doesn't want to begin an explanation, he doesn't want to waste time with words. He thinks back to what he said to her before he left, it doesn't _matter_.

(He wonders if it matters _too_ much instead)

It is when he comes home, after he deletes her text, he realizes he never bought the gift he went for.

_Fuck_, he thinks. _Fuck_. He doesn't want to be a disappointment to his sister, not to her most of all. He resolves to stop by the mall the following day, try again with the purchase of her gift. He's grateful her birthday isn't for another week, he still has time.

He brings his fingers to his closed eyes, rubbing them incessantly. He tries to steady the thoughts inside his head, and he centers his thoughts back to the routine.

He goes to cover his wounds the way he's learned best, the way to heal is found through alcohol and sex.

He calls Santana, and curtly informs her he's on his way to her house with wine coolers and condoms.

It's not as much about the alcohol as it is about the sex. It's just _sex_, there's nothing to romanticize.

When he arrives, he rings her doorbell, and he doesn't wait for her to say a word before he drops his the wine coolers he brought, and nudges his body to hers, his mouth enclosing hers.

He kisses her like he had once before, so many times ago; it wasn't a routine he could have forgotten. His lips curve against her jaw, a sense of familiarity he hasn't had with anyone else.

(He briefly wonders if it's wrong to feel _this_ familiar)

He remembers so easily what excites her body, he remembers how easily his fingers strum against her skin. He continues to kiss her, her palms traveling underneath his shirt, tugging him closer to her.

He moves his hands across the tank top she's wearing, how easily the fabric folds underneath his skin. He grips the bottom edges into his hands, moving it upwards off her body, throwing it somewhere behind her.

He buries his head into the crook of her neck, his tongue flicking across her collar bone, and he can't help himself from biting the skin.

When he fingers her waistline, he tries not to notice the way bone protrudes from the skin.

He helps remove her bra, the red blazing across her skin. His hands shake as he moves to cup her breast, but she doesn't say anything; he convinces himself the shakes are a figment of his imagination.

(Red is the color of adultery, and cheating but he's not cheating; but it still feels like he _is_)

Her bra falls off, lost in the wreckage of her floor, and her legs are wrapped around his waist. He kisses the column of her throat, his mouth marring the skin, and he loses focus long enough to wonder why her skin isn't paler. She tips her head back to give him more room, and he sticks his hand against the wall to steady himself.

She clutches his back with her palms firmly entrenched around his spine, circular patterns across the back of the shirt he's still wearing.

Her fingers curl into fists, clutching his hair.

It feels like old times.

(But not old enough)

Her tongue tangles with his as her hands struggle with his pants, and he finds himself dropping one of his to help her. His hands search through her folds, and when he feels she's ready, he thrusts into her.

(Like he's done so many times _before_)

When she leans forward into him as he presses her against the wall, he feels himself suffocating in the midst of her perfume. His breathing is labored, and he's trying to understand why it feels so heavy.

He feels her hips moving against his, and he's lost in the movements, it's their systematic breathing, the rhythm they fall into. They've been together countless times, he has the routine perfected to how quickly he can bring her to the brink.

But he's not lost enough, he's concentrating hard enough to not moan another girl's name. Through it all, his head is somewhere else, with thoughts of someone else. He wonders when the hell he become such a pussy, to be having sex with Santana and to be thinking of someone else.

She doesn't have that problem, it's _his_ name she says over and over, and by the last one, he wishes he was someone else. When it's over, when it is _over_, she falls down next to him, and he barely catches his breath before he pulls her in for a second, third, and the fourth time.

He leaves when it's over, wiping his mouth with his hand, and slipping out the door without saying another word.

(She's just a _girl_)

He comes home, three in the morning, stumbling out of his clothes and onto the bed. His legs tangle in the sheets as he searches for his phone in the dark.

(917) I had sex with Santana.

(Three in the morning, and she's _still_ awake)

(646) And what? You think we're even now? We're never going to be even.

He doesn't know what to say to that, and he wonders what _this _has become to be about, if it's not about getting even.

AN: Anyway, this was such a short chapter to write, it made no sense to hold onto it. I have the next chapter written, and after that, well, we'll see. I'm not going to stop updating completely, there's just going to be more time in between my updates.


	29. Free Falling into the State of Nothing

She doesn't sit on the chair across from him when she comes back on Thursday, she finds herself settling into the cushions of the couch, the soft fabric imprinting to her body. She sits down Indian style, her legs folded into one another, a slouching posture clearly noticeable. She balances the weight of her head on one hand, her teeth biting a finger that's found its way inside. She doesn't move to say a word, she just sits and stares up at him.

"I'm surprised you came back." Jack says softly, his words traveling from his body on the chair across the room. He looks at Rachel, his green eyes sparkling with kindness. He looks at her, surveying the damage underneath her eyes in the two days they've been apart. The circles underneath her eyes appear to have the appearance of marks by a purple crayon, colored roughly and without care.

"I had no choice."

"We _always_ have a choice."

She shakes her head, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. "I didn't."

She hasn't had the ability to make her own choices lately. She spent all of Tuesday, and Wednesday, Thursday morning even arguing with her fathers about therapy, about how unnecessary the entire thing really is, how therapy is providing a threat to her future. They barely listened, they simply said that many of today's young celebrities find themselves in therapy and rehab, often both, both a boost to their careers, and sent her along her way.

They said she can thank them for this at a later point in her life, when she's old enough to understand.

"Are you in a relationship?" She asks suddenly, without thinking. She's unsure of why it matters, but it _does_.

He arches an eyebrow at her tone more than her question, and he finds himself wondering why it would matter.

"You're not my type."

"That's fine." She says dismissively, barely noticing his words since he hasn't answered her question. "It's not as if I would want to date you, either."

He twirls the pencil between his fingers, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to detail her point. When she says nothing, he speaks first instead. He breaks the silence because her stare is lingering _too_ closely for his liking, a stare he's not used to, and he knows it's been too long since someone has stared at him _that _way.

He hopes there's no inappropriate thoughts circling through her mind.

"When did you and Finn break up?"

He brings back Finn, a _safe_ topic of her high school boyfriend, a gentle reminder of other things. He wonders if she'll go back to her routine denial, and he's proven correct at her next set of words.

"We _didn't_ break up." She hisses angrily, her voice laced with enough anger to make him _almost_ believe her.

Jack continues to twirl his pencil as he waits for her to continue; he knows by looking at her, she's not going to stay quiet for long. He's not surprised it's the topic of Finn that brings a rise out of her, a wave of clear anger on a deep blue tide.

"How is dear Finn, then?"

"Fine." She replies, no longer concerned with keeping the bitterness from seeping into her tone.

"Just _fine_?"

She nods, just barely.

"Tell me about him."

She kinks an eyebrow, wondering if she's mistaken the care in his tone.

"I doubt you would care about the relationship of a seventeen year old."

He shrugs, setting down the pencil and crossing his arms behind his head.

"Humor me."

She thinks about Finn, and what his presence means in her life. She questions what he's become to mean to her during the course of these past months, how he's softly stayed with her.

"He's my anchor." That's the clearest word that resonates with her, the safety net he offers her.

"He ties you? That sounds inappropriate, given your age."

Rachel rolls her eyes, and avoids the sexual innuendo attached.

"No. He's strong, and stable; he's happy in ways I'm not."

"And you're not strong enough to be on your own?"

"I am." She says it with a force she doesn't feel, she needs this word to convey how _fine_ she is, even if she isn't.

His brows crease in confusion as his head digests her words, and he wonders what he's missing.

"If you're strong enough to be on your own, why do you need him to be your anchor?"

"You're misinterpreting my words to hear what you want to hear."

Jack shakes his head, and folds his hands in front of her, resting them lazily on the table.

"I don't think so. I think you're playing the role of the damsel in distress, and you need someone to save you because you can't save yourself. Nobody wants to face reality, reality is difficult and hard, and it's _real_. Nobody wants that. Everybody wants their own fucked up version of sunshine and butterflies, rainbows sailing across the sky."

He pauses before he continues, wanting the words to fully sink in before he continues.

"That's why you have Finn, dear Finn who can protect you from reality, and the harsh glare of the outside world. That's why you like him, isn't it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure you're incorrect in your assessment. I like Finn because he's _wonderful_, not because I need to be saved, I'm not an avoider. I'm _fine_."

He nods, tapping his finger on the desk.

"Fine. Fine. You're _fine_." He doesn't bother hiding his contempt of the word at this point.

"Finn has a best friend." She says suddenly, changing the subject from her emotional well-being to Puck, and she racks her brain; she can't even recall the two of them speaking lately.

"Imaginary?"

Rachel takes a heavy breath before continuing, determined to not allow Jack's remarks to affect her.

"Cute. His name is Puck."

"Like the fairy from a Midsummer's Night Dream?"

A smile escapes her lip at the imagery. She can't think of anyone who would refer to Puck as a _fairy_. She shakes her head to end the day dream, and carries on.

"There was a _thing_ between us once."

Those aren't the words that Rachel meant to say but when she sees the dubious expression on Jack's face, she can't help but continue on.

"A _thing_?"

Jack isn't sure what else to add to that. He's still not even sure if Puck is the guy's real name.

"Don't look so surprised, people _do_ like me."

She wonders who she's trying to convince more in this moment, him or herself. She swallows a bitter laugh about who she is becoming.

"I'm _fascinated_. Carry on about the fairy."

If she was standing, she would have put a hand on her hip and stomped her feet like a toddler about the fairy reference but she isn't standing, and she doesn't feel well enough to care.

"One day long ago, after he ran into me and Finn at the mall, he stormed off upset that he saw us, and I ran after him. I told him Finn and I are just friends, nothing happened. I didn't want to hurt Puck's feelings, you know, that the thing between us was over."

She doesn't tell Jack that this happened this previous Monday, and not in the far off past like she wants him to assume.

"And he believed you?"

He tries to keep a straight face while trying to put two and two together but he can't, not when Rachel leaves out words that should be there. He ponders what she's trying to say without having to say it.

"He texted me later that night, and said he did, and I replied back."

"Did he respond?"

"He did, but not to what I asked."

Jack quirks an eyebrow, and refrains from rolling his eyes.

"What did he say?"

"He said he slept with Santana, the slutty cheer leader who attends our school."

Jack emits a low whistle, one that gets him on the receiving end of Rachel's dirty stare. She clenches her jaw prior to responding.

"I tell you that he sleeps with another girl, and you _whistle_? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Drama. _Drama_." He pops his lips to further annoy her.

"You're not supposed to _whistle_ when I tell you things."

He puts his palms out, a motion of indifference.

"Maybe he did it to be spiteful, to hurt you on purpose because he knows he _could_. Or maybe he's just an _ass_."

"He can't hurt me, I don't even like him that much." She says haughtily, with a trace of arrogance to cover the truth, the gaping wounds she has.

"Excuse me." He says, heavily sarcastic.

She shrugs, she doesn't care why he told her. She just knows he did, and that's the only thing there is to discuss.

"How did it end?"

She looks up, evidently jolted by the question.

"How did what end?"

Jack chews the eraser of the pencil he's holding, a bad habit he fell into when he was in his high school years, and it carried with him all these years. If Rachel finds the habit disgusting and grotesque, well, she doesn't say anything.

"You know, Puck. You said it happened a while back, so clearly, it had to have an end."

She doesn't say anything, the speech of her words failing. Jack's eyes narrow at the silence.

"You don't know how it ended? Or you can't tell me how it ended?"

"Fine, we _broke_ up. Finn _broke_ up with me while I was in the hospital, he broke up with me so he could wear a cape and no longer stand in the way of me being with Puck. And it didn't happen a while ago, it happened _Monday _night. Are you _happy_ now?"

"How selfless of him." Jack says wryly. "Utterly selfless."

Rachel doesn't say anything, her eyes look away in defeat.

"What's in it for him?"

Rachel shrugs. "There's nothing in it for him. He just wanted me to be happy."

Jack laughs, a deep laugh that even she can feel.

"Bull_shit_. I don't believe that."

"I don't care what you believe, it's the truth. He cares about me enough to let me go."

Jack kinks an eyebrow, his laugh turning serious, his smile turning into a straight line.

"Guys don't _just_ give up the girl, Rachel. That doesn't happen."

"He loves _me_." She whispers quietly, words she's never had to convince herself of. They were simple, they were true. She stares at Jack, digging her nails into the insides of her palm, and begins to hate him for putting roots of doubt inside her mind. She swallows thickly, willing herself back to the present.

He watches her carefully, but he's far enough not to see the faint pinpricks of blood that rise to the surface. She twirls a thumb in the middle of the skin, soft edges that once existed, now replaced with jagged cuts. She begins to stare more at her hands than at his face, and she waits for him to speak.

"He may love you like you want but he may also love you differently than you assumed. Life is not divided into black or white, especially when it comes to feelings like these. Feelings often come with their own blurry edges, their own color grey."

She rubs a thumb across the marks gently, and clasps her hands together before she can do further damage. She sighs, a heavy sigh weighted down by everything she hasn't said, everything she _doesn't_ plan to say.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

She looks away, a mirthless smile hugging the corners of her lips, a smile never making it to her eyes; her eyes staring at the degrees hanging on the wall. Her eyes flick over the prestigious achievements, and gazing at them brings slight pangs to her heart. She was going to be a star and now, now she's in _therapy _with a therapist who mocks her.

Suddenly, she feels ashamed and she can't pinpoint why.

"What did you write back?" He asks suddenly, remembering how this conversation began to turn.

"I told him if this is about getting even, we're never going to be even."

"Even?"

Rachel thinks back to the letters, back to Finn and Puck with Santana, and Finn, and Santana again, the hurting and the breaking apart the two of them have begun to dance through. She should have told Puck about the undeniable ache in her chest when her hand grabbed his arm, an ache audible outside the cavity of her chest. She thinks back to the blisters she feels when she imagines him with Santana the second time around; she wonders if it's the same blisters he felt when he imagined her with Finn.

"I don't think we're done hurting each other yet." Her voice leaves the back of her throat, barely hovering above a whisper, and Jack refrains a comment about the slight crack in her voice. He figures he doesn't want to make her cry, not until the third session, anyway.

"How do you know when you've won? Or he's won? Is this a game you can win? What's the prize?"

"I don't know."

"How long is this going to continue?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to spend the rest of your lives focused on getting even?"

She doesn't answer, the air between them turning heavy. She watches as his eyebrows raise, she can feel the accusation in his tone.

"What _do_ you know, then?"

"I don't _know_." She takes a heavy breath, cradling her head in her hands, unconcerned with her hair falling around her. She sits there, rocking back and forth, but the sobs aren't coming. She wants to cry, and her tear ducts aren't cooperating. The air is heavy with the silence between them, and he waits several pauses before pressing at the wound.

He's not completely heartless, he finds himself torn between wanting to push her, _needing_ to push her to open but he's wondering if maybe, maybe this isn't the best subject area for today's conversation. He picks the former over the latter, and plows on ahead, figuring he has to make the incision sometime.

He begins a suture that's going to fester inside her for days, an imperfect line designed to pick apart the false seams she believes are holding her together. Therapy is about the re-opening of new wounds, and he can't re-open them if he's not willing to go through enough measures to pry.

"Let's start from the beginning. Tell me how you became involved in this messy triangle."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What are you two fighting for?"

"We're not fighting."

She twists his words to answer what she wants him to say, what she wants to hear.

He ignores her play on words, and continues on, refusing to drop her stare.

"It sounds like you're fighting, it sounds like you're fighting very passive aggressively, more or less what I would expect from those your age. You tell him you have no feelings for him, and he retaliates by having sex with another girl, and then telling you about it. That's harsh."

"That's actually not how it happened." She says, correcting him.

"How am I supposed to talk to you if you only give me pieces of the whole story?"

"It's complicated."

"It usually is."

He takes out his stop watch, and sets it on two minutes.

"You have two minutes to summarize the most important parts. Go."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Wasting your breath, you have a minute and fifty seconds left."

"Fine, fine. It began last year when I became close friends with Puck outside of school, _albeit_ carefully because my social standing is not equivalent to his, and he didn't want to be embarrassed. Then, after about two months, we had sex and he said it doesn't mean anything, and he walked out."

She takes a quick brush of air before she continues on.

"The next day, we began to ignore each other. I began to date Finn in January, right up until May, and then we broke up and he began to date this girl named Brittany. When summer vacation came, everybody left for the summer, including Finn but then he came back and we spent the summer having sex in his room, my room, in a bunch of rooms. I told Finn our summer together didn't mean anything to me."

She bites her lip of embarrassment; she just told her therapist, her male therapist she has _sex_. She briefly wonders if he cares, if he's being judgmental about the fact that she had sex with two different boys in the span of several months.

Jack doesn't say anything, he merely gestures to the time on the stop watch.

"The first day back, I trip over a box of letters, and it turns out Puck spent a summer writing me a bunch of letters. Some of them sweet and thoughtful, some of them cruel and vicious. Late October, I get back together with Finn and we're together for about a month again when he throws me a birthday party, and I ended up spending the end of the party with Puck at his house, he lives across the street, and then sneaking back to Finn when dawn broke."

She takes another breath, she finds speaking this quickly to be very draining. Jack find the story becoming intriguing, and thinks she has more problems than he did at sixteen, and he slept with every girl that walked back then.

"That morning, Finn yelled at me, and I stomped from his house, and then I got into a car accident, and Puck snuck in on a food cart to visit me, and then Finn broke up with me, but he stayed with me when Puck said he had a date, and that he couldn't make it back to the hospital to visit me."

Jack makes a face. _Date_? He waits for her to finish her diatribe before he asks.

"A week later, Finn drives me home and I finish reading all the letters, and Sunday, Puck stops by and it's going well, and then he says he can't do this, and then he walks out, and then it's _over_. It is over but it doesn't feel over. Do you know how over feels?"

She lets everything out, the last of her sentences rolling out on one breath, and she tilts her head to look at Jack expectantly.

"Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

"What are you fighting _for_?"

"Isn't that what you just asked several minutes ago? That has nothing to do with my two minute rant, anyway."

"No. My first question was in regards to what the _two_ of you are fighting for. My second question is regarding what you find _yourself_ to be fighting for."

"I don't know."

He smirks, and she begins to look uncomfortable.

"Evidently, you know nothing, then, since you haven't answered a single question."

"You never answered my question, the one regarding your relationship status."

"Would it matter?"

She tilts her head to the side, a strange expression covering her eyes. He can't read it, the mixture of feelings hovering inside her pupils, and he wonders if she can hide her feelings better than he thought.

"No. I suppose it wouldn't."

He checks his watch, and she smooths out the tangles of her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ears. Her thumb finds its way to the cashmere edges of her sweater, rubbing against the soft fabric.

They sit in silence for the last fifteen minutes of the session, neither willing to broach the distance, and at the chime of the clock, she walks out the door, and Jack can only sit in bewilderment.

AN: So, next up is the New Year's Chapter. Does anyone have any preferences for how the scenes play out? Or anything they want to see? I start school on Thursday so I'll probably have a chapter posted after that, maybe sometime over the weekend. I have a paragraph written, and it's less angsty, and a little more bittersweet than I had planned for a chapter.


	30. The Games that Play Us

It is the night before a new dawn, one last winter sky of the old year. Rachel doesn't have to look outside to see the scattered stars lighting across the sky, stars she's wished on _once upon a time. _Wishes upon wishes she once used when she was little, wishes and wishes that failed her and the breaths she used. She sits on her couch, a blanket thrown carelessly across the edges of her body, dangling off her feet, reminiscing as she's frequently down with regards to the past.

At least this time I'm not thinking of Puck, she thinks wryly, and then she sighs heavily. Her own thoughts have betrayed her.

(When she closes her eyes she can picture him, the lazy circles across her back and his heartbeat with hers. It drummed once, pulsing all those nights _stay stay stay, _trying to overpower his, overpower the _run run run_.)

Her heart aches deep in her chest again, that quiet ache swimming through her bones again, swallowing her whole, and she brushes off thoughts of him away, like a pesky gnat that never leaves.

She sits, and sips her hot chocolate, not bothering to turn on the television to watch the ball drop. It's a habit of hers, each year she watches the ball drop and holds her breath for a better year than the one that just left. Each year she makes a set of resolutions, resolutions and lists of things she wants to follow through on. She has not made a list this year but she does think it would be nice to be happy, to be happy from wherever happiness arrives from.

(She ignores the nagging thoughts of Puck weaving in and out of her mind; they keep coming back, she's just going to chalk it up to _forgiveness _and adjustment, and call it a year with that. Jack would be proud.)

Her fathers have left her alone this year; they have gone to celebrate with friends and she pushed them out the door eagerly, ignoring their concerned expressions again and offered words of reassurance instead. She'll be _fine_, she says repeatedly, several times in case they don't hear her the first time.

They never hear her the first time. The reality of the situation is, the stark truth glimmering across her life is that she has two fathers, a safe environment to nurture her dreams and aspirations and she's never had to question if she is loved; not the familial kind, anyway. It's a small price to pay for the lack of acknowledgement of all the words that escape her mouth the first time around.

They've enrolled her in various forms of dance since she was a little girl, the pattern continuing as she grew to be seventeen. They've just signed her to the classes, and she's added stars to her name; at least she can feel she played a minor role in her life. She thinks sometimes, now more than ever, who she would be if she was free to make her own decisions, those decisions without their input.

She falls asleep early and she wakes up late, her hands holding a cup of coffee for warmth as she sits on her window seat, watching the snow fall outside. There is snow and a beaming sun, a burst of color against her pale skin. She doesn't feel any different, she wonders if she is supposed to. It's a new year, this is a chance for a new beginning but she still feels like her old self.

She prattles around the house, back and forth aimlessly, catching up on more sleep and preparing for the following school day. She spreads out the attire for the next day, she looks in the mirror and resolves to see a new her. She wasn't prepared enough; she overslept through the sound of her alarm clock. Waking up, the blinking red lights informed her she was over two hours late and normally, this never would have happened to begin with but she shrugged it off, and went back to bed.

She awakens several hours later, and one glance at the clock tells her she's going to be late to meet Jack if she doesn't get out of bed this _instant_. She doesn't need a lecture from him regarding time and lateness in addition to everything else she's _sure_ he's going to lecture on.

She stumbles into his office several seconds late, and she avoids the way his eyebrows raise.

"How's the fairy? Your eyes are smiling, I assume it has something to do with him."

She rubs her eyes, almost as if to rub the happiness out, and sighs, a heavy sigh she can't pinpoint where it comes from.

"I overslept today so I didn't see him." She stares at her fingernails, the cuticles are more worn than they should be. "Oversleeping isn't the best way to begin a fresh start."

He curls his upper lip with a smirk, and she doesn't bother to disguise the disgust around the corners of her mouth.

"Shame."

She doesn't say anything, she's grown weary of his attitude.

"You miss him, don't you?" He says it as fact, something concrete and true, not a question, and his voice wakes her from her thoughts.

"No."

"You do."

"I don't."

"Enough with the fairy, and the ex boyfriend, and the boys you've yet to meet. _Enough_."

"I'm not the one who keeps re-visiting those topics for discussion."

"But _you_ want to, and that's the difference between you and me. I have to bring it up because you won't say anything."

He claps his hands when she doesn't respond, taking in the arch of her eyebrow at his excitement.

"Why are you clapping?" She wants to ask what's _wrong_ with him, but she's afraid of being impolite. His smiling is growing irksome, she frowns.

"Enough with the fairy, forget the _boys_. There are bigger prizes to be won, focus on the present, on the future within your grasp. I'm going to give you an assignment."

"You can't _give_ me assignments. You're my therapist, not my high school teacher. You can't just tell me to do something and expect me to jump at your beck and call."

"I can do whatever I want."

She folds her hands across her chest, and stares at the sea of gray and silver mingling on his head. She's only ever seen George Clooney pull off that look.

"For Thursday, I want you to make me a list."

"A list."

She shifts her eyes upward at him, remembering when she had a list for everything; she wants to tell him lists are guidelines for the real thing but they're no guarantee.

Jack looks at her pointedly, waiting for an argument, a fight, a verbal barrage but she says nothing, and he smiles, unsurprised. He folds his arms behind his head, pleased to see he's_finally_ getting to her, the emotion in her eyes are as clear as day. He's grown tired of the silence, she's the one supposed to be making conversation but she never initiates the discussion, not even when he provokes her.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, which you will, is a list of goals you want to achieve, things you aspire to and want to accomplish. I'm getting tired from listening to thoughts of your love life, and I need you to direct your attention to more pressing concerns. Like your _future_." He says snidely, which she doesn't appreciate.

It figures that her parents would find the only therapist in town who acts like an ass. It's only been _two_ sessions, and Jack is behaving like a child, a child on the verge of a temper tantrum. She hasn't even discussed the two boys with him, not fully, she hasn't analyzed the relationship to the depths like she knows she can.

(She can close her eyes and picture his hair and the green eyes, the way his mouth rested above her collarbone but she makes the mistake of blinking, and she's returned to staring at Jack)

"What if I choose not to accept this goal?"

"You will. Aside from that messy affair you call a relationship, you _never_ leave things unfinished, and you wouldn't with this, not even if you were thinking of doing this to spite me."

He pauses, and she loses focus of the words he's just said, her mind wandering backwards through the memories. She wants to correct him, correct the error he's made; this isn't an affair, and most things in life are messy, _it's love, love love __love, i was in love, Jack_.

(There was love, _love_ she thinks. _Anything less than I love you is lying_)

But she doesn't say anything, she never stops to question why isn't love _enough, _and he continues speaking, his eyes glossing over the newly formed roots of hurt springing in her eyes.

"Unless you have other things you have to do, like friends you need to see, boys you need to cry over." He adds as an afterthought, her eyes narrowing at the edge.

"I'll see you Thursday."

She walks out the door again, she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her. She swallows and releases small bursts of air, her throat aching from the air that's been caught in her throat for too long. She desperately wants to go back to the girl she once was the girl fighting for survival in a bitter high school world, a girl who didn't have a boy playing her like a xylophone.

(The next day she begins to work on the list, the tearing of the band aids wrapped around her heart)

AN: You can totally tell this chapter was one of those filler chapters.

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	31. Chapter 31

_ Once upon a time, there was a boy who would write pretty words, pretty words painting over the decay of his world. He had a flair for imagery, the visions flourishing underneath the tip of his pen, blue ink bleeding his heart onto the page, pages folding into soft envelopes of beige. Nobody would believe it, he's not the appropriate image of a romantic hero; he fucks girls, unrecognizable girls clawing with their nails underneath his skin and when he's used them dry, when he has taken them for what they are, he leaves them; they've filled their purpose, this is how it's always been. It is how it's always supposed to have been; men don't change after all, could a leopard change its spots?_

_ But even authors know characters can always be re-written, re-written to fit new beginnings. In the blink of an eye, one future could become another._

_ That night, that night they keep going back to over and over again, is the night he binded her soul to his, half of her heart residing in his chest. When he left, he took a piece of her and left fragments of his soul behind._

_ (Perhaps that is why they come back, to reclaim what is rightfully theirs)_

She will write a list, a list of impossible wishes given her current state. _Julliard_; the first step towards her role on the stage. _Broadway_; the bright lights she was born to stand under, to fill the souls of the people that would flock to listen to her. _Canonical family_; love and kinship, the white picket fence and perhaps an animal or two. _Happily Ever After_.

She will follow Jack's _request_ to the bare minimum, if only to chase the person she used to be, to become more than a ghost of her former self. A gap in her heart has begun to twist at the corners, further and further contorting until she has sprung a leak.

There is nothing wrong with me, she thinks; convincing words spilling across the corners of her eyelids. She spells each word as if they mean something but the stark reality of the situation does her no favors, she's damaged at the core. There are people outside her walls, the walking dead with real problems, problems of finances and abusive relationships. Her only problem is the deep rooted feelings of inadequacy manifesting themselves now, gripping her when she's at her weakest; a bitter heartbreak that just needs time. She wonders if her years of activity and those dreams she had were a cover she hid behind, covers that existed to hide the truth, and she's only waking up to herself now.

(No one could want to be a star _that_ badly unless they needed to fill something that resided deep inside. People can't crave adoration and approval if organs were intact; if they were whole and healthy.)

She writes a page filled with the structure of complex words but nowhere on the page was anything remotely related to happiness, the personal happiness elusive to her; a butterfly slipping through her finger tips with repetitive motions of escape, of flight. The page, a testament to her future, is only indicative of weakness; how far she's fallen at the current moment.

(She doesn't know if she can be happy, not if she needs lists for happiness. They say that people who are depressed _once_ will always shoulder a burden of smudges around their edges; try as they might, they can never go back to a replica of their former self. Happiness is all relative, anyway. It's such a vague term, she can fake any emotions if she threw more effort into these feelings)

_How much does it take to fill a soul to its depths? How much love is necessary to fill the loneliness? What are the numbers, what kind of charts are best? Numbers and figures do not speak as loud as my heart._

She listens to the howling of the wind that night, Jack's words floating in and out of her ear as she listens to the song it sings; a soft tune accompanied to a simple melody, without any words. Abruptly, she sticks her thumb out to mold the shape of the moon, _the distance from me to where you'll be is only finger lengths_, he said to her one night. Her head leans against her window pane, and she counts the stars she knew well. She falls asleep like that, the warmth of her room shielding her as a blanket, her head rests on foggy revelations clouding her vision.

_What they've told you is a lie. People never get over their first loves, not even when it becomes strong enough to destroy them._

She doesn't do anything that Tuesday, her day back; only Finn inquires how she's feeling after her car accident. His fingers brush against the white gauze at the edge of her arm, lightly and softly. He doesn't ask anything else, she doesn't volunteer information; she wonders if this is how it will be. When he's gone, his feet pounding across the linoleum away from her; when the awkwardness dissipates, she wonders if she dreamed it all. Nobody else asks, nobody notices; _it's as if she never existed_.

Wednesday follows Tuesday's behavior but Thursday, Rachel breathes and takes a chance to gently stick her head of her shell; or at the least, find someone to stick their head into her shell with her. She asks Tina to spend time together, perhaps there is a movie they could watch at the mall after school? Tina shakes her head, and Rachel walks away first. She'll realize there's no sense in attempting to leave the comfort of her solitude, nobody exists for her in either world. She walks around the building aimlessly afterwards, still in the vicinity after classes have ended, thinking and feeling. She has time prior to her appointment with Jack, several hours worth before she has to be there and there's nothing else for her to occupy time together; Glee doesn't begin for another week.

She feels the green splattered across her face, her outfit before she could see who the responsibility could be credited to but she says nothing, not caring enough to cry. She undresses in the gym locker room, peeling off the sticky layers coating her skin through her clothes and she wonders why she didn't bring a change of clothes like she's supposed to.

She bunches the clothes into the shower with her, washing the color out of the cotton and is nearly finished cleaning her sweater when she drops it, startled by the sound of two strays falling from on the other side of the door. Her mouth falls when she realizes who stumbles in, and she makes no move when the two notice who's there.

"Berry." Puck says curtly, ignoring the tugging on his arm of the girl he fell in with. Since he slept with Santana that night, he's slept with a revolving door of girls, girls with cookie cutter faces blending together for a continuous stream. He kisses them slowly, trying to find a fragment of the girl he left behind but he doesn't succeed and he doesn't touch them again.

(They were beautiful and maybe that was the problem)

"Puck." Rachel says, a syllable of acknowledgment and turns back to fixing her sweater. She covers a towel under her body, she was only clad in her underwear and bra when they came in, and she moves to the dryer by the sink. She feels the two watching her, she finds this unsettling.

"I don't think I'm in your way, you could stop staring."

"_Please_, as if I would, as if _anyone _would. You're ugly." The girl says; Rachel tries to ignore the way the words cut across like shards of glass. She opens her mouth to reply, a woefully inadequate retort she'll remember later, when Puck makes the first move.

"You can go now."

The girl goes wide eyed when she realizes _who_ the words are directed to and she stares at Puck, unable to hide the gaping of her mouth when she realizes how casually he dismisses her. Puck shoots the girl a smooth smirk, not bothering to watch her leave, or storm out, turning back instead to glance at Berry still staring at him, her quizzical expression lighting behind her eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt, I'll be finished here soon. There's room in the other stall if you're still interested; it's not too late to call her back."

He says nothing in response, he continues to stare at her; the way she's felt so many times before.

_Has her heart missed his the way his has missed hers?_

She sucks in her breath when he looks at her, the air still held between inhale and exhale; she's afraid to let go to let the moment pass. She bites the inside skin of her cheek, feeling the flesh sink softly onto her sharp teeth. She bites but the skin doesn't tear; it is strong, it is resilient, much unlike the owner. Her muscles tense when his hand moves to her cheek, wiping the smudge of color from the corner of her month.

"Green's a poor color on you, Berry. Thought you would have known that by now."

"The color scheme is the least of my concerns."

He throws his jacket on her when he notices the trail of goosebumps making a home across her arm, the trail composing patterns of valleys and mountains, prickling on edge from the cold. The oversized jacket is loose against her shoulders, broadening her frame and enveloping her in. His fingers dance sideways across her wrist, and if she knew better, she would pull away. She lets it continue, nodding her head numbly when he offers to drive her home.

(She never makes it to Jack)

_ This is what they keep coming back to time and time again; they keep coming back to the same fairy tale hoping for a different set of results, a different ending. They wait for happiness in corners that do not exist, of love that has no place in the real world. Love, hasn't anyone told you? Silly words of make believe, love is an excuse to hurt and to get hurt. It will bend you, bend you further and further until you can feel your insides snap, you're on your knees with mercy. _

_ Silly children, fighting their way against the tide of time. When will you learn you can't fight against a future preordained? _

_ (When will you learn two damaged people cannot make a whole but rather, damages multiplying to damaged cuts of co-dependence?)_

AN: This chapter features lyrics from Snow Patrol, Bright Eyes, Coldplay, and a scene from 'Dear John', which I saw last night. It wasn't particularly amazing, the Notebook was so much better. I used to read his books when I was younger but I haven't enjoyed anything the way I loved 'Notebook' and his earlier work.


	32. we're made of blood and rust

"I want to make sure I understand this clearly. You slept with her but you thought of me. You thought enough of me to _text _me as soon as the act was finished."

_Fact_. She says this as fact. This cannot be taken back, much like the act itself.

Those are the first words Rachel whispers when he pulls the car up to her curb. They haven't said anything prior to her interruption of the silence and he seems perturbed by the outburst; herself stunned by the escaped words. She doesn't express words of gratitude or an attempt to make small talk; how's the weather, look outside. These are the first words that are on her mind because these are the most important words. She wants to play the role of the guilty party and crown him with thorns of blame but they weren't anything; it's not as if he cheated on her. She wonders if there have been others after Santana, if the girl in the bathroom was one of them. It has been a little over a week, surely there have been others.

_How absurd_, she thinks suddenly.

"Yes."

_Oh_.

She swallows the bile instead of saying a word.

He hears the subtext below the surface, the words that refuse to leave the back of her throat.

"You wanted the truth and I gave you the truth. We weren't anything for it to matter. It was just sex, it doesn't change things between us, it doesn't change things between me and Santana. She never meant anything."

He says quietly, the words elapsing into the space between them. Rachel finds herself wishing he was angry, finds herself wishing for anger that could swallow them whole. He continues speaking but Rachel isn't sure if she hears him correctly; there is a ringing in her ears.

She nods, her thumb rubbing the skin of her other hand. She speaks suddenly when a minute has gone by; a minute that feels like an hour.

"Is that supposed to make things feel better? We weren't anything, that's the sad part. We weren't anything for it to matter but it still matters; we weren't anything but I still feel sad about the circumstances; I don't understand why this has to affect me the way it does."

_is it because i always feel sad_?

"We aren't anything because we're both self destructive, and we're supposed to be coping and healing but the thought of you and Santana does nothing to heal my wounds, and I doubt she healed anything emotional. You said you can't do this, you can't do this with me but you could this with her. What is she, Puck? Is she happy and whole and that's why you're with her? Is she shiny like the gold stars I destroyed after I read that letter from you? Bright bulbs of Technicolor shining from the sky, does she light up your life?"

She takes a breath, inhaling and exhaling.

"You're the same person who hurt me a year and a half ago, and you did, you hurt me all those times, and all those things you said. It's like a repeat now, I feel violated, like every inch of me is bruised; I feel rusty and sick, and I'm waiting for everything inside me to evaporate and leave, like iron. Iron that rusts, the leftover residue departing like ashes into the midnight sky."

_Sometimes you're held together by intricately woven iron threads for so long that when the depression sinks in, it takes a while for the iron to rust. Given enough significant time, a combination of water and oxygen will cause the iron to convert entirely into rust and disintegrate. Given enough significant time, her insides will evaporate into thin air._

She continues easily. Seventeen and he's given her something she can never have again, he gives her something he's never given anyone else; more than bits of prose.

"You touched her and you slept with her and I feel sick; I can't look at you without feeling sick. There's something inside of me and I can't explain it, there aren't words for it. I just feel physically sick, like an illness sweeping through my veins that consumes me. Was this revenge for Finn? Did you sleep with her to twist the wounds further, to get even? Is she my replacement for when I'm gone or vice versa, neither or both; is this a multiple choice text with extra answers? What was this for that you had to tell me?"

Her stomach lurches and she sucks in her breath; she is _not_ going to throw up in his car, regardless of how desperate her intestines are clamoring to leave her body. She's surprised at how quickly the feeling rises inside of her, how quickly she becomes unhinged. She doesn't stop to wonder if this is how he felt when he imagined her with Finn; he _had _to have imagined her.

She imagined him. It is the same thing.

He leans his head against the window, his eyes directed outward into a distance she cannot see. She wonders if it will always be like this, if they will always be looking at a distance neither of them can reach.

Puck doesn't know how to explain; that touching them he touched her, a sea of nameless faces that he's always seen her in. He touches them but he only sees her; he wonders if she will buy this as an excuse.

She pulls him close before he speaks, and she finds herself forgetting the bitterness they're engaged to. There are logistics involved and she has forgotten them all. She holds him and she doesn't understand what she is holding him for; neither of them have the right to play victim.

But his mouth meets hers, his lips moving cautiously against hers, and she can feel his weary sigh nudging itself into her. She would push him away, and she would stop this, but she _wants_ them to have this moment. She thinks the world tilted on its axis once and never properly came back.

So she kisses him back, and that's how the whole thing starts. _Again_.

She kisses him back, and the act of regression begins, and when their mouths have run their course, she can see Jack shaking his head at her current behavior.

She pulls away, leaving Puck staring; his eyes reflecting the sheer panic in hers. The afternoon light cuts light across the edges of his face and he glows. She makes the mistake of blinking and the halo above his head disappears.

"My therapist isn't going to like this."

He turns to become dumbfounded and blinks. He blinks several times, and she tilts her head to the side, ignoring the nagging feeling in her mind that perhaps she should have chosen a different set of words.

"There's so many screwed up things with that sentence."

He doesn't ask for detail, she wonders what she would say if he did.

She wrings her hands at his words, but she doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't think matters could be helped if she tells him her last two sessions have involved talks of him, that her goal for today's session revolved around making a list and bringing herself back and she just had sex with the boy who keeps her trapped.

She glances at him, realizing he's unsure of what to say; the next words that leave his mouth are not the words she expects.

"My father's dead."

He swallows, the air trapped in his throat burning. He opens his mouth to start again but he swallows again; the words immobile.

"My father's dead."

_Oh_.

"Do you miss him?"

"It's different. I can't explain and you can't understand."

She leans back onto the the seat, her skirt is rumpled and she is positive her hair is a tangle of knots from his fingers. Her brain searching for the right words. Her knees are pulled up to her chin while his eyes are watching her, silently observing. It is an intimate moment, the kind that couples share behind the privacy of closed doors but they're not a couple, they're barely _friends _but they're not strangers either; she wants to shake her head ruefully, what are they?

_you will always be the bitter saddest part of me._

She swallows, despite knowing this is how these events were going to end. Her feelings tighten in her chest, a fist wrapped around her heart to slow the breathing. She wants to continue this conversation but she looks at the expression on his face; she can see the steel circling his pupils and she keeps her mouth shut, perhaps now is not the best time.

She doesn't inquire as to how their relationship has transformed from this singular turn of events; she just comments.

"We're not friends."

She knows they're not friends; she can't understand why she has to repeat the words. His head is in his hands, his fingers rubbing his eyes back and forth. She wonders if he's crying. She doesn't feel like crying.

"No."

Rachel doesn't understand; neither of them do. They can't be together because they're likely to spontaneously explode but they can't stay apart either; nor can they stop twisting the knife long enough to let the careless stitches heal.

"It's better than not being together."

She doesn't know what that means, not even after the words have left her mouth. She wonders if she means what she has said; she wonders if she has ever meant anything she has said.

She glances at her phone as she opens the door to her house and isn't surprised to hear a bitter message from Jack that she missed her appointment. She doesn't bother returning the call.

Puck nods when he sees her in the hallway the next morning; _acknowledgment_. She nods back; he nods again and they both nod. She ducks into her next class, flames rising up her neck. She feels like a hypocrite for wanting something and nothing at the same time from him. She wonders if they will ever have a fresh start, a slate that is wiped clean enough for them to make tiny errors, mistakes that won't snowball into what it is now. The art of forgiveness spins its way through her thoughts; she wonders if they will ever learn.

_Sometimes I love you enough that it consumes me, the bright flames turning to hate. I love you so much I've turned to hate you._

The weekend passes quietly and as the hands on the clock turn, she dreads her meeting with Jack for Monday. She had promised to make a list regarding personal goals, a list she made but it is not the list that begins the session.

"I had sex with Puck."

_Fuck_. She had no intention of discussing Puck with Jack anymore and now she's gone and brought up sex _and _Puck in the same sentence. She looks at Jack; he looks ecstatic to be broaching this subject first. His expression is one similar to one's expression when they chew glass.

"Of _course_ you did." Jack says knowingly, his sarcasm evident. He runs a hand over his face; this is not what he had in mind when he ordered her to make a list. He tries to keep the horror out of his eyes, sex with the fairy better have not been on that list.

She doesn't tell Jack that it was in the front seat of Puck's car, that it was after she asked him about the sex with Santana; that his hands traveled across the curves of her body seamlessly, as if they've been there all along. She leaves out the part where he buries his head in her neck, his lips trailing across her collarbone, the smudge of her lips left afterward.

_But when his fingers settle onto the base of her neck, she realizes this isn't love with them; just the settling of scores._

She says words that shouldn't have been said.

"I had sex with Puck while discussing his dead father and my therapist but it wasn't a discussion; it was similar to a series of comments."

She shakes her head.

"No, that's wrong. I said my therapist isn't going to like this, he said that he doesn't know what to respond. Then, he said his father is dead and I asked if he misses him, he said I wouldn't understand."

Jack kinks an eyebrow, slightly tilting his head to the left. This is not the turn this conversation should be going. This is not appropriate subject matter to be discussing with a seventeen year old girl, much less a patient of his.

"Was I good?"

He was not supposed to ask that either.

"What?"

She wonders what kind of question that is until she realizes what she just said.

He shakes his head, grateful she didn't respond with an answer. He wonders if she wants to talk about the dead father.

"Never mind. I'd rather not talk about Puck anymore, not even if you have sex with him several times a day and your body has become sore. I could care less and quite frankly, I'm appalled that that is the reason behind your missed session. From now on, unless he's here, I don't want to discuss him. You have to focus, where is the list I asked for?"

Rachel's eyes widen at the prospect. Perhaps therapy would do Puck some good. Not that it is doing her any good, she just began. She ignores his question regarding the list, they can broach that subject in due time.

"He can come here?"

"Sure, just bring the fairy with you to your next therapy session."

"Really?"

She looks at him hopefully; it grates on his nerves. She needs to learn the art of sarcasm.

"No. I'm not running a free for all here."

He looks at her, she's began to bite her lip again and he can feel the tension emitting from her body; her thoughts are back on the relationship.

"A relationship can only rise from the ashes it disintegrated into once its reached its lowest point."

"Don't you think that it's a little excessive?"

"A _little_ excessive would be you mourning this relationship for about a year."

She believed him that day he showed up at her door unexpectedly; when Puck said he cared about her but she should have been intelligent enough to inquire _how much_. He wrote her letters of poetry and lovers, but still; she wants to know _how much_.

She looks away, the arcs of her eyes dancing back and forth between the corners. She doesn't know what to say in response. She heard from Puck's mouth that this doesn't change things, that they're not even friends, even after this. What does she say now to justify these actions? He nodded at her in school?

"I don't think you understand."

"Try me."

She wants to explain her feelings toward the relationship but the words are lodged in her throat and she can only watch as Jack smirks. She can feel the acerbic comments he wants to say, the ones he hold back and she hates herself for being in this position.

She convinces herself of false truths. This was their third, _fourth_, attempt; she wonders if they could get it right on this try. Her head fills with trying but the thought alone exhausts her.

"It could be different."

She knows it wouldn't be.

"You're clinging to hope that doesn't exist, that's an illusion."

"We all need to believe in semblance of hope to get us through the day."

Jack rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

"And they lived happily _ever_ after. Really, is that what you think you have here?"

"I don't like you."

"I don't see why you would."

"What do you want from your future, Rachel?"

"The same thing everyone else does. Happiness, relationships."

"That wasn't my question. I asked what do _you_ want from your future. Stop being an avoider, that is the root of your problem. Or one of them, anyway."

_ The stars burn brighter in New York_, she thinks.

"I wanted to be on Broadway when I was younger. I wanted to be a star and call New York home."

This is what she's supposed to want, isn't it?

"What happened?"

She shrugs, her insides restless at his tone.

"Nothing happened."

He puts his fingers together and brings them to his nose.

"Nothing happened."

He repeats, parroting her words.

She nods; she's unsure why. Where is the nodding come from? Her head feels robotic on her shoulders.

"Do you still want to be a star?"

She stares, hesitant where to begin, how to explain she's never had a choice in the matter. Her fathers enrolled her in musical lessons when she was young, songs and dance routinely drilled into her mind; the first and last thing she would see each time she opened and closed her eyes. How does she explain she's never known a life otherwise? Then, once the high school bullying began, her desire to become a star was manipulated by the external forces. That's all she began to want, to burn brightly enough that those who scorned her would regret it. She wanted to become a star for revenge but she's tired of the fight. She's had it ingrained in her head that she would always be on Broadway and now she feels the drifting of that dream. It's always been about everyone else and their assumptions of her, the pressures of her father, the bullying of her peers.

"Relationships don't necessarily make people happy."

He figures bringing the conversation back to Puck is the closest he's going to come to receiving an answer.

"You _just _are happy or you're _just_ not happy. There's a middle ground there, a middle ground that can be obtained but you're not at that point yet."

She doesn't say anything and he sees the curves of her eyes bend in sadness. She doesn't equate Puck with happiness, the roots of her despair stem deeper than that.

(_Grief_, Jack will later say. _Grief_)

"There would be no loss of whatever personal misery you two may be going through. It would just multiply because not only would you be carrying yourself, but you would be carrying his. Emotionally, you're not in the same place. He's grieving and you're depressed; one does not have anything to do with the other."

Rachel wonders if she has grown weak, even through the slushies and the pornographic pictures on bathroom walls, she has never been this weak. People are always strongest before the break of the dawn; they are always strong when they don't have to be. She wonders if this is the case with her.

"You'll learn soon enough."

She looks at him, a bewildered expression evident. She bites her lip before she speaks; what is there to learn?

"I don't understand the reference."

Jack pauses for a beat before he continues.

"You'll learn soon enough your sickness has a name and it's not the one you think."

A glimmer of understanding rises to the surface of her eyes, instantly transforming them to pupils of anger, of bitterness and regret.

"I don't believe that."

Jack looks at her strangely, his eyes concealing the depths beneath. He grapples with the words he wants to use but by the time he finds his speech, she's walked out the door, leaving him behind.

_(_She has a flash of clarity after she walks out the door, the truth blinding her beneath her eye lids_)_


	33. What Comes after the Blues

There is a clarity that descends on Rachel after her session with Jack. His words resonate with her at the core, and she finds herself wondering why it has taken her so long to realize how foolish she has been. She has been pining for a boy, for a boy whom happily ever after doesn't exist. She should have known better than to rely on the feelings of a high school romance, if romance was even the appropriate term.

And for the first time since the whole thing began, she finds herself crying. It's a tough thing to swallow, how quickly these events have turned. The bitterness of the situation nips at her heart, and it stings; it stings deeper than she imagined. She has been waiting in vain for an ending that will not appear.

When the tears have stopped, she thinks of sayings 'tis better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. She catches a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror on her way out the door; these people evidently have no idea what the word love means.

That's the problem, she thinks. Maybe neither did she.

She comes home afterwards, her eyes red rimmed but with a determination that previously wasn't evident. She walks to the cabinet where she stacked the letters carefully, almost as if a shrine and she packs them back in the box where they came from. She throws the letters carelessly, one after the other, not bothering to see how they fall amongst each other.

When it is over, when she has cramped every last letter from her shelf into the box, she covers the opening with duct tape and debates how to best proceed. She ponders the idea of burning them, to watch as they disintegrate into ashes in a sea of red and orange but she doesn't; she knows it she has burnt them, she will regret this later. She goes downstairs to the basement, throwing the box into a random corner and goes back upstairs. Laying down on her bed, she wonders what to do next.

That night, she dreams of paralysis, of limbs attaching only to break apart at the flesh again. She dreams of them re-attaching themselves to her again and again. There are band-aids on her skin, and she imagines herself tearing the flesh off her wounds, and she breathes as well as she can. When she wakes up the next morning, she doesn't feel better but she feels less like dying, so she supposes that is a start.

She avoids him easily the next day but it isn't as though he goes searching for her. She thinks it's better this way, she hides in plain sight.

Rachel picks at her fingernails while Mr. Schue is announcing solos, he hasn't given her one in months; she doesn't see why she should expect one now. She can't prevent a wave of bitterness from rising inside of her, she's the _best_ they have for the upcoming Regionals, even with the current state of mind she is in, and they are unable to use that tool effectively. She stopped asking for them when he voiced his concerns that she isn't promoting team unity. She wants to roll her eyes at the memory.

"Where is Regionals this year?" She asks suddenly, her voice escaping easily to the dismay of others. Mr. Schue looks surprised to hear her speak. She hasn't spoken since the day of their conversation.

He shrugs, checking his itinerary.

"Cincinnati."

She nods, _almost_ as if she cares. Regionals is the second week of February this year, falling on the middle of Valentine's Day. Rachel has never enjoyed the holiday, she is positive she'll enjoy it even less this year. She folds her arms across her body, she makes a mental note to bring a sweater with her to school next time.

He goes back to announcing solos, finally stopping at Kurt and his win.

Rachel raises her hand, her thoughts startled by the song selection. "That's not fair, Mr. Schuester. You never give me any solos, pushing me to the side while you encourage others."

Kurt rolls his eyes at her tone, unsurprised that she would pick his solo to steal from.

"Kurt doesn't have the voice."

"I think he does," says Mr. Schuester kindly, not wanting to hurt her feelings but wanting to show encouragement towards the other boy.

Rachel can't believe this. The one time she shows she _cares_ is the one time nobody else around her can be bothered. She thinks and relaxes her shoulders, silently breathing. It is about the outward expression and composure, she has to keep composure if she wants to steal the solo from his hands. Now that she has packed her heart into a box downstairs in her basement, she needs a different direction to occupy her thoughts. She has to stop throwing herself a pity party for a table of one, it's never going to get her anywhere.

"I think you're mistaken," Rachel responds, a steely edge to her voice.

Mr. Schuester looks at her, and he sighs.

"It couldn't hurt, Kurt. Why don't you sing a few bars, Rachel?"

She sings several lines softly, her voice rich with emotion, and to Kurt's dismay, she wins the song.

Her eyes catch with Noah's once she has finished; he smiles and she's the first to look away. She refuses to go back down that road, despite every temptation that exists.

AN: And that, ladies and gentleman, is the end. My eternal eternal gratitude to KittyGoddess415 and Astaralis for everything. They have been absolutely wonderful (as have all my other reviewers, alerts, favorites!) Honestly, you guys have been so sweet.


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